The Dragonborn Rising
by Neveramore
Summary: Tales of slow-building romance and action set in the world of The Elder Scrolls IV: Skyrim.
1. The Return

I was moving. That's the first thing I remember.

It was bright. Too bright. My eyes adjusted to a narrow path lined by the swell of the mountains that I knew so well. Their steep rises cut out patches of the serene sky, tipped in crags that were clearer to me in their distance than my bound hands in front of me. A sense of dread flooded my consciousness. I was aware of the cold; it was a stark reminder of where I was. Home. Was it home anymore? It had become inhospitable, even more so than the place I had been leaving it for.

It was overwhelming. I couldn't take it all in at once. Parts of my body alerted me to each of their unique achings individually. The threadbare trousers I was wearing rubbed my bruised legs, and my arms were raw from the bitter wind swirling around me. I smelled the rich wood of the evergreens that line the road solely through my left nostril as my right was clotted with blood. The creak of the wagons in the convoy and the rowdy male voices made light flash on the edges of my vision. My fingertips were purple from the leather strap that held my hands in a position of piety in my lap. As my head swiveled upon my neck, taking in my surroundings, it throbbed so painfully that my vision turned black momentarily, despite the brightness of the midday sun. Even the nerves behind my eyes ached.

I was aware that there were others seated around me. "One… Two… Three." Four with the carriage driver. My thoughts were sluggish. My head swam as I made out the yellow haired man in front of me. He was thickly muscled, and wore braids in his hair. A Nord warrior. I knew the colors he was wearing. The sight of his cuirass sent a flood of recollection through my mind, though it carried no specific memory. I could not recall why the colors were of importance, but it made my swollen hands sweat. I detected danger. I tensed the muscles in my legs, an animalistic guard taking hold of my weakened awareness. I was ready to launch myself away from any threat presented by this man, or either of the two seated next to me. My heart pounded. I couldn't form words yet. I breathed heavily through my nostril, gritted my teeth, and waited for him to make the first move.

We made eye contact. Maybe he'd heard my heart beating, because he wearily smiled at me.

"Hey, You! You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us. And that thief over there."

I relaxed at the strange cordiality of the man's words. I looked to the indicated figure on my diagonal right. He was dressed in the same peasant clothing I was. He looked as rough as I supposed I did, too. He was thin. He had been living on the edge for far longer than I had, from the looks of it.

"Damn you Stormcloaks! Everything was fine until you came along. The Empire was nice, and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell. You, there!"

I blinked experimentally, then again to acknowledge him.

"We shouldn't be here! It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

I blinked several more times in lieu of a response. The yellow haired man spoke instead.

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief."

"Shut up back there!" grumbled the coachmen. The yellow haired man scoffed.

I looked once more at the one I knew as thief, then at the man on the same side of the carriage as myself. His only movement was the swaying that unified all of us. He hadn't yet spoken, and I realized a cloth was tied around the lower portion of his face. I turned back to the man with yellow hair. I had regained most of my awareness, and although I could tell the aching in my body wouldn't let up, I felt capable of speaking. I studied the man, whose garb still sent a wave of chills down my back. I now remembered why. A tear found its way through my self- restraint, and the salt stung a particularly large gash across my cheek bone. The dread became heavier. I knew not where in Skyrim we were, but it didn't matter; I knew the fate we were headed for. The pain in my body began to dull; it was replaced slowly by leaden acceptance. I hung my head, and spoke to my hands as I addressed the soldier across from me.

"Have you a name, Stormcloak?" I questioned, my voice stronger than I could have hoped. A long sigh accompanied his answer.

"Ralof. Ralof of Riverwood. And yours?"

The traditional inclusion of his town made the tears collected in my eyes flow more freely. My throat constricted with each tear, and the answer fell from my mouth in a small whisper.

"Tanella Wearhard of Winterhold."

I raised my head and looked proudly at the man called Ralof. I hadn't used my full name in so long, yet the shape of it on my lips felt as satisfying as it had in my past life. A look of understanding passed between us. I felt though I had done something immodest by bearing my tears with inhibition, and the man seemed to respect it. Nothing was said of my tear shed, and Ralof turned back to the thief. The thief spoke first.

"What's wrong with him, huh?" He said, nodding to the silent figure.

Ralof's face went from neutral to scowling.

"Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"

"Ulfric… Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion! If they've captured you… Oh gods! Where are they taking us?"

Ralof spoke again.

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits."

"This can't be happening. This isn't happening!"

Ralof looked at the thief in disdain. He obviously held a kind of resentment toward the man, but there was a strange look cutting the hardness in his eyes. It might have been pity. Whatever it was, he addressed the thief again.

"What village are you from, horse thief?"

"Why do you care?"

"A Nord's last thoughts… should be of home."

"Rorikstead… I'm… I'm from Rorikstead."

A voice with a strange accent called out.

"General Tullius Sir, the headsman is waiting!"

An imperial man I assumed to be General Tullius spoke next.

"Good. Let's get this over with."

I could have laughed at his dismissive tone. I felt numb.

The thief looked toward the sky.

"Divines, help me!" He yelled throatily.

"I know these walls," Spoke Ralof dreamily. "We're in Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Vilad is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in? It's funny, these Imperial walls used to make me feel so safe." He closed his eyes to let the visions of salacious beauties from the summers of his youth dance across his lids.

The people of Helgen were lining the road as it widened into the main part of the town. It was smaller than I'd have imagined it. There were few women, some old, and some young. I wondered if Ralof recognized one of them as Vilad. His eyes were still closed when I looked at him. He had a small smile on his face.

A child's mother called for it to come into the house, its protests growing quieter as we passed. My mouth tasted coppery and dry as the first carriage in the entourage circled around, and then stopped. We were third. We slowed at an agonizing pace.

When we finally stopped, the jerk of the carriage roused Ulfric Stormcloak from his meditative reverie, and the thief from his frenzied prayers to the gods that could not hear him. Ralof licked his lips and opened his eyes. He had a feral look about him.

"Better not keep the guards waiting."

Ulfric Stormcloak exited the carriage first, with a light hop. His demeanor was regal, but his expression unreadable. Next the thief, who stumbled on his way down, denying any affiliation with the rebels. Then me, after a gentle, "ladies first," from Ralof. I jumped with as much dignity as I could muster. My lower back absorbed most of the landing, and I whimpered quietly. This went unnoticed by all, save for Ralof. His jump landed him close to me. He stood exactly where he had landed.

A female captain barked orders. Even the man next to her, who towered above her, shrunk from her authoritative tone. He was classically handsome, and looked a bit too soft for army life. He was young, only slightly older than myself, but his face bore the marks of the kind of worry that could have belonged to a man far older.

"The Empire loves their damned lists." Grumbled Ralof.

The man next the captain read off the first name in a slightly feminine voice. His accent was similar to Ralof's. A Nord in the imperial army?

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm."

The Jarl stepped forward, employing the imposing air of his full height. He stood in the line of Stormcloak soldiers, centering around the chopping block. The headsman seemed to leer through the mask of his industry.

Ralof daringly spoke aloud:

"It was an honor serving you, Jarl Ulfric."

The soft lilt of the tall guard's voice called out the next name.

"Ralof of Riverwood."

Ralof winked at me, and stepped forward to join the collection of Nords to our left. I could spot his yellow hair among them. Another tear slid down my face, the salt stinging my wounds in silent bereavement. I felt physically ill.

The third name was called out. This time it was the theif's.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

The thief did something I had been expecting since we'd exited the carriage; He pushed off of his left knee in poorly balanced wind sprints that took him as far as the last house before the gates to Helgen.

The female captain called the archers to bring him down. He fell face-first into the frozen dirt of the path we'd come in on. He lay inert, arrows sticking crookedly out of his back. One had landed itself through his throat. No one moved to get him. My eyes stayed on his motionless form as I was called forward.

"Next, step forward. You're not on the list. Who are you?" asked the effeminate guard, poising his quill above his list. He gazed at my battered face with a pair of steely eyes that contrasted strangely with his feminine voice.

"Tanella Wearhard of Winterhold."

It hadn't felt nearly as gratifying as it had when I'd spoken it to Ralof. I licked my lips.

"A Nord… crossing the border during the war? Captain, what should be done with her?" He asked softly.

"She gets the block." The captain barked.

The male guard's eyes softened slightly.

"At least… At least you'll die in your home. Step aside."

I walked toward the chopping block, stopping near Ralof's shoulder. He looked sideways at me. I could see the fear in his dark eyes, though he gave me a chivalrous smile. An unfamiliar name was called. Footsteps brought a Nord forward, and a foot in the back sent him to his knees. He was dressed in the familiar blue-green of the Stormcloaks.

"My ancestors are smiling upon me, Imperials. Can you say the same?"

I saw Ralof's pupils contract.

The headsman lifted his wicked axe with relish. I turned my head into Ralof's shoulder.

I felt the axe thud against the hay strewn ground. I flinched at the sound, and Ralof turned his head slightly toward mine.

"As brave in death as he was in life. Wait for me in Sovngarde, brother."

"Next! The Nord in rags."

I involuntarily shuddered. Who could they mean but me? The rest of the Nords were Stormcloaks. Ralof turned to me. This was it. It was over. We looked into one another's eyes, and the same mutual understanding as before passed between us. As equals; as Nords. I put all of the gratitude I could muster into that look; I wanted to thank him for the little solace he'd provided in the extremely brief time I'd known him. The last of my tears rolled away. It was my turn to be courageous.

I leaned in close.

"It was a pleasure to have known you, Ralof from Riverwood."

The ground shook as I spoke, making the bound prisoners stumble in their hindered balance. The townspeople and guards alike raise their hands to shield their eyes from the sun to search the culprit out in the great blue sky. A collective gasp rose from the crowd with a simultaneous question;

"What was that?"

"It was nothing!" The female captain shrieked uncertainly. "Continue!"

Before I could see Ralof's reaction, or let him answer my intimate whisper, I stepped forward, and on my next step was shoved by a guard. I stopped fast, and continued at the pace I had set. The headsman and a guard pulled the body of the Nord before me away from the chopping block, but left the head in the reservoir basket. I kneeled in the pool of blood, which wet my knees. I heaved dryly, but my stomach was empty and nothing passed my parched lips. My head was pushed forcefully toward the block. I turned my head toward the headsman, to save my last vision from being that of the severed head of a kinsman. I mustered all the anger I had in left, and put it into the look I sent him. My neck touched the grooved surface of the block.

The headsman menacingly raised his axe, the metal of the freshly sharpened blade glinting in the sun that cast shadows over the town. I held my breath, and hollowly prayed to the gods I'd given up on.

When all the hope had left my withered body, the Earth shook again, staggering the headsman. A great, looming shadow was cast over the town, and before my eyes descended… a dragon.

I thought I'd died without feeling the headsman's axe. I remained stationary, closing my eyes. I heard beast's screech, and felt the heat of its fire surrounding me. Screaming. Feet pounding. A thud, directly in front of me. I opened my eyes.

Before me was the headsman's burning carcass, his axe only feet from my face.

I felt a great tugging, and then I was lifted from the ground.

I was being jostled toward a stone guard tower. I was in someone's arms. I wasn't dead, because the dead couldn't feel the amount of pain that suddenly flooded back into my battered body. Smoke obscured my vision. The light from the dragon's fire illuminated the edges of my blurry sight. I could make out the archers atop the guard wall, and I saw them sent airborne by a viciously aimed swipe of the dragon's tale. I saw bodies littering the area we'd just been in, and the thatched roofs of the village houses set aflame.

I felt the change in temperature as we entered the stone guard tower. The door was shut behind me, and I was set on my feet. My knees buckled, but I was propped up by a pair of strong arms, and the binding around my wrists was cut.

"Tanella. Tanella! Look at me. Now! Can you hear me?"

I recognized Ralof's voice, although it sounded distant. He slapped lightly at my face, and gripped my cheeks. He turned my face to look at him.

"Tanella, Can you hear me?" He repeated.

I gripped his hand and to stop his frenzied tapping.

"I can hear you, I just need a moment." He released me, and I leaned over shakily and put my hands on my knees. "What's happening? Could that have been… It couldn't have been?... They're just legends…" I trailed off.

The answer came not from Ralof, but from behind me.

"Legends don't burn down villages. We need to move, now."

Ulfric Stormcloak had been the one to speak. I stood up to my full height. My palms felt sticky. I had forgotten the blood that soaked my trousers. I looked at the Jarl and nodded.

Ralof started up the spiral staircase; I followed him. I saw the dragon approaching through the small stone port in the wall, and I grabbed the back of Ralof's cuirass to stop him. The dragon burst through the stone ramparts, throwing backward a young Stormcloak soldier that had been watching out of the port. Ralof breathed heavily, but didn't stop. He reached the landing that was now gaping open as an unnerving portrait of the razed town. The dragon swooped low over the eastern end of the village; archers fired in vain, and the foot soldiers gathered into pockets and slashed at the belly of the dragon when it flew low enough. Ralof grabbed my shoulder.

"Jump on to that roof; I'll be right behind you."

He placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me to the edge of the blasted ledge. I looked at him, then back at the roof that seemed all too far away.

I was poised on the edge, when more rubble and dust was shaken loose from the ceiling.

I held my breath. And I jumped.

* * *

><p>Edit 217/12: I'm adding a playlist for this chapter, and the rest. Here's the song for chapter 1:

1.) Benjamin Gibbard and Steve Fisk- Overture (_This is the whole intro, up till when Alduin attacks. I think it's just really beautiful on its own, but it really conveys what I was feeling as I wrote Tanella accepting death , and kind of being in shock_.)


	2. Sweet Escape

First off, I'd like to say that it's absolutely wonderful to see my words in a public medium! This is my first published writing, and I have some notes to add, so this may be a little long.

I've already written the first chapter of Tanella's story, and I know I stuck quite closely to the beginning dialogue (almost verbatim.) I wanted to kind of give the reader an open canvas for input, and I thought that would best be accomplished by starting at the very beginning, with very few changes. It gets a lot more original in this chapter, though. I also realize that Tanella hasn't had much of her background explained, but I have a reason for this, too! I wanted you to kind of see the world through her eyes, and get a feel of what she's going through on a very base, human level. Her background will be added through dialogue later (I know Tanella's story very well already ) Again, I wanted the reader to bond with Tanella, instead of dumping the hard facts on you straight away. This is in first person, after all, so the only way you're going to understand Tanella's story is if she explains it to you herself.

I'd like a lot of reader input, so that the whole story kind of stays in the tradition of the Elder Scrolls: Open ended, and customizable. Whether that means me leading Tanella through the main missions, missions of the reader's choice, or making something entirely new up is anyone's guess.

On a more technical note, I stayed up all night writing this, and was rather tired the whole time, so any grammar or spelling mistakes are unintentional. I did check, and I think I got most of them, but please be forgiving if I didn't! I also know that it's extremely long, but I wanted to get Tanella out of Helgen as few chapters as possible. This is probably the longest chapter I'll ever write without splitting up, but I felt like there wasn't really a way to break it into two and still sound congruent.

Lastly, I'd like to thank "Miss Cuttlefish" for being my first (and so far only) reviewer. Thanks for your kind words, and constructive criticism. Sorry for the rambling, I'll probably never write an author's note this long again. Let's get on with it!

*IMPORTANT* I forgot a disclaimer on the first chapter, but just so it's cited, I don't own *ANY* part of the Elder Scrolls series. Thanks

….

I landed hard, and my knees buckled once more. I propelled myself forward with unstable steps, and stumbled more than once before I'd fully righted myself. I hadn't felt Rolof land after me. I spun around with searching eyes, but the smoke obscured my vision. The boards below my feet began to falter, so I forced myself onward. I lowered myself through a small patch of broken boards, and the floor met my feet sooner than I'd hoped. I thanked the divines for this small miracle, but even this small break was enough time for the roof of the house I'd landed in to be lit ablaze. The acrid smoke filled my lungs and blurred my already affected vision. I called on the reserves of courage that were left after my jump from the guard tower, and pushed through the burning wall that stood precariously in front of me. I felt the hair on my arms become singed, but I didn't stop. I ran through the row of burning hamlets, pushing past frantic guards and townspeople.

The road widened, and the beast was near. I saw the dragon clearly for the first time. It was larger than many of the houses that smoldered around me, and black as a starless night. It hovered above the ground before me, blocking my path to salvation. It seemed to look quizzically at me, and cocked its head to the side as a dog would. I traced my steps backward, never taking my eyes off of the dragon's glassy ones. The fear racing through my veins numbed my senses, and kept me stationary. The feverish pounding of my heart told me that the dragon had not yet struck.

The dragon reared back, and took flight once more. I prayed to the divines in a thin, rapid stream, asking forgiveness for my qualms. I continued down the body-strewn path, leaping mindlessly over the fallen figures and debris.

I turned a corner at another guard post, or what I assumed had been one. The wooden spikes that signified its purpose now told if its destruction as they fell, trailing smoke behind them. A boy ran as past as quickly as his short legs could carry him, and the dragon came near the ground once more. He had his back turned to me, so I didn't see his face, but I heard the yell of the feminine guard. His broad shoulders tensed as he caught the boy and ran him to a fellow guard, giving commands as he turned.

He saw me, and nodded.

"Still alive prisoner? Stay close to me if you want to stay that way."

I followed, because the sword in his holster that glinted in the light from the flames was far more formidable than the thin layer of tundra cotton that stood between the dragon and I. We ran, hugging the stone ramparts of fallen buildings. The dragon let fly a scorching trail of fire, one that bit at my ankles as I ran. The guard brandished his sword and wielded his shield bravely. The dragon, as if in spite of his efforts, pumped its wings powerfully, and glided westward.

The guard looked back at me with a wild eyed resolve. He charged on with a renewed purpose, as if the brush with the beast had ignited a fire within his broad chest. The path opened to an open stretch of dirt, flanked by Helgen Keep to my right, and the Barracks to my left. The guard charged forward, raising his shield to shelter himself from the falling debris that fell from the crumbling structures around us. I fell behind and he must have sensed the lengthening distance between us, because he sheathed his weapon, turned, and, for the second time that day, I was l lifted from the ground.

If this had been under normal circumstances, if anything had been normal at all, I would have protested this gallant act. I would have denied myself any feelings of helplessness, but the muscles in my worn legs burned, and I could barely have continued. I _did_ feel helpless, and the threat of looming danger kept my lips sealed.

The guard veered left, and as we neared the door to the barracks, he turned to lead with his right shoulder and barreled into the doors. He righted me without missing a beat. He turned swiftly and closed the doors, vainly locking them shut with the wooden barring mechanism. He spun around once more and looked meaningfully at me.

He pointed silently with a soot covered finger at a chest at the foot of one of the cots. I was averse to thievery, but I realized that the Imperial guard that owned the contents of the chest was likely not able to miss them any longer. I kneeled obediently, and dug around. There was armor that I could tell was slightly too large. I began to remove the threadbare tunic I was wearing, but remembered quickly that I wasn't alone. I looked over my shoulder, but the guard had busied himself with looting the drawers and chests of the other Imperial soldiers. Whether out of respect for my modesty or actual necessity I couldn't say.

I changed quickly and efficiently without removing my eyes from the floor, slipping the too- large armor over my head with ease. I heard the crashing and screams from the sieged town outside. I looked at the items that had been hidden beneath the armor, letting a few stray prayers loose in requesting a strong bow and but a few well-fletched arrows. The chest contained leather bracers, boots, and a short sword. I looked at the length of the dull metal bleakly. I took it nevertheless, and it slid easily into the holster on the side of my new armor. The thing I'd been hoping for the most seemed to be the only thing the chest lacked. I finished dressing, and returned once more to the chest. There were a few healing potions lining the bottom, along with a bottle of minor magika. I was no mage, to be sure, but I tucked it into the pouch I wore slung around my waist.

I finished collecting my new belongings, and stood to face the guard. I intended to ask him of the wares he'd gathered from the other cots.

"Is there a bow to be had?" I asked simply. He shook his head, and then spoke.

"I know that the pickings are sparse, but they should serve our purpose. Also, it looks like someone's already looted most things useful. If that's the case, which I'm sure it is, we'll need to tread lightly. Let's continue on."

My hopes drifted farther down, settling somewhere in my lower abdomen.

He'd rustled up a knapsack, and it looked nearly empty. He strode to a table near the door, and added a map and a bottle of Nord mead to its contents.

He secured the pack across his shoulders, and opened the heavy wooden door. The guard began to walk through, but stopped suddenly. A wall of darkness met us, as thick as the smoke we'd just escaped. There was no way to tell human presence from the shuffling of rats. He turned, and his index finger slowly met his lips to ensure my silence. I nodded, and the hand that had been on his lips went to his sword at his side. He drew it slowly and quietly, gripping the base with both hands.

The corridor was almost completely black. Most of the torches had been extinguished, but the light from the few still illuminated was just enough to travel forth in. I stepped up to the one nearest the door, blowing the cobwebs off the base. I reached for it, but before I could take hold, another hand cut through the air and gripped my wrist, drawing a startled gasp from me.

"Do you want me to run ahead and let them know we're coming, then?" The guard's whisper dripped with haughty sarcasm.

I reclaimed my hand in a huff, and answered him quickly.

"Of course I don't. But wouldn't you at least like to be able to see far enough ahead to greet them?" My response was heated, and I felt my eyebrows slide north.

"We'll have to struggle with what we've got. No use giving ourselves away. Remember, they won't be able to see us any more than we can see them."

"So we'll all be doomed."

He shrugged his shoulders, and turned around. He gripped his sword once more, and I thought I heard a snicker.

The flagstone tunnel was rife with twists and turns. The torches became more and more sparse, and through some portions of the pathway we had to feel our way along the stone walls. I could tell we were headed further underground. I could smell the stagnant water in the air, and the walls became damp. The temperature dropped as we descended. After a while, I heard the guard sheathe his sword. I vaguely hoped that the man leading me knew where he was going.

My body still ached, but I trudged on senselessly. It dawned on me that it may have been foolish to trust someone so blindly. The man had stood by while my death was decided in front of me. I knew he had been following orders, but I had been at the mercy of men "following orders" before. Where did the line between "following orders" and doing what is right begin and end? I remembered the small bit of sympathy he'd offered when I'd been chosen for the block. I understood that being so vastly outnumbered may have drawn the line for this man, or maybe it'd been his loyalty to the Empire. I didn't presently have the capacity to try to understand his reason, and in any case, I was grateful for the help he had offered me since. The alternative was dodging a dragon unarmed above ground, and so I decided that it was alright to temporarily put a little faith into this man. After all, he was the best hope I had.

I was walking forward mindlessly, guided by the wall. Just when I had fallen over the edge of my thoughts, I walked directly into something solid. It almost took the wind out of my lungs, and the line of my thought fled upon impact. It had been the guard, and a door before him.

"Shh!" he demanded, although I hadn't made a sound. I listened intently, assuming he was doing the same. First I heard distinct, strident footsteps. Next I heard him unsheathe his sword.

"You ready for a fight?" I heard him whisper through what I could only assume was a grin.

"As I'll ever be," I responded, drawing my own blade.

"On the count of three."

"One… two…"

On the third count, the guard threw his considerable heft against the door. It flew open loudly to reveal a wide corridor, ending in a room filled with torchlight.

"You heard the footsteps?" He whispered in a puzzled tone.

His voice didn't sound so feminine when he whispered. I nodded, and remembered he couldn't see me.

"I did. But that entrance may have… er… _given them time to_ _hide_." My irritation toward him flared once more, but the only sound I earned from my derisive answer was another shush. He crept forth in a shielded stance, one that was suitable for fighting at a second's notice. It showed his training, and perhaps natural skill. The sword I'd picked up was one- handed, and if I'd heard correctly, there had been multiple voices echoing through that door. My palms became sweaty, and I needlessly gripped the thin sword handle with two hands. I was no swordsman. My arms sought to bow into their familiar arching form at the first sign of danger, and the sword in my hands felt all the clumsier for it, like a child wielding a toy.

We reached the end of the corridor before the torch-lit room. The guard stilled in front of me, his ears picking up on something that I'd obviously missed. I remained motionless, gauging his reaction. His arm flew out to break my stride, and he backed slightly closer into to me. The light dimly showed the circular arrangement of the room, though it kept its inhabitants hidden well.

I stood my ground, and listened intently. I heard a slight shuffling, and gripped the base of my punitive sword more tightly. The layer of sweat that coated my hands emphasized my ungainliness, and I swallowed loudly. We paused a few more moments, which passed noiselessly.

The guard lowered his arm, and proceeded forward into the dark chamber. On his second step forth, the few torches that lined the walls were suddenly extinguished. The lack of torchlight revealed a soft bluish glow emanating from the other side of the chamber. It was Natural light. It was freedom. I still couldn't see the guard, and ventured forth a few steps toward the light.

A shadow flitted across the dewy haze that had suddenly instilled such hope in me. I froze on the spot, and I heard a strangled whisper reverberate off of the curved walls.

"P-Prisoner?" Came his tentative whisper.

"I'm here. Just… Just stay put." I answered slowly, uncertain of how to answer the guard. For all his aggression beforehand, he could have been a young boy in this darkness. It tugged at something inside of me, and I felt pity, despite our dire state of affairs.

I knew I had to tread lightly. I stretched my arms out in a graceless attempt to locate the guard. I took half-steps in the direction that I'd thought I saw him travel, though nothing was sure in the darkness. My mind contorted every sound into stories from my childhood, that could only dwell in such blackness. Every scuttling was a Falmer. Every whimper was the guard's last. I quashed the senseless fear and continued to sidestep toward where the guard must have been.

The shadow darted across the dim light once more, and this time was accompanied by very distinct footsteps that could have only been human. I considered calling out to the guard, but before I could formulate a sentence, I abruptly felt a blast of coldness, squarely in my chest. I was lifted off of my feet and returned to the ground some six or seven paces behind where I'd been standing. The toy sword I'd been carrying leapt across the floor into some remote corner of the lightless chamber.

It had been a spell, and a strong one at that. It burned in a way that was almost counterintuitive. The coldness radiated through to my bones, crept from its mark on my chest to numb my vocal chords. I knew that, as a Nord, these affects would only be temporary. Although I may have known it logically, my body told me otherwise. Thoughts raced through my mind, but none of them were translated into words. My heart felt as though it was going to burst.

Some of the residual magical frost I'd been hit with illuminated the center of the room, which in turn revealed the location of the guard. He'd been rather close to me, which made this mysterious entity all the more threatening. My mind pushed a memory forward, a stubborn kind of thought that only occurs in calamitous situations, and helps as little as my lost sword would have. I recalled reading that magical frost, when wielded correctly, is unmelting. This was a practiced mage. I stayed down, searching for my opponent with frantic eyes.

The guard spun around and around, panic flooding his boyish features. A strand of hair had come loose, adding to the look of helplessness that agitated the worry lines across his forehead. My honor told me to stand and fight, but the spell was taking its toll. I coughed, and his eyes found mine.

They widened in surprise, and he gasped quietly. He fell forward onto his knees. His rough hands relinquished his sword, and it clattered to the ground. He put his hands out to cushion his fall. He bent his left arm into an odd shape, clutching at the air behind him. He fell entirely to the ground after what seemed like an enternity, and I could only look on him in shock. I didn't register the blood covering the back of his armor, or the sword I'd dropped sticking at a sickening angle out of his lower back.

What I did see drew a gasp from my own lips.

A figure had been hiding behind the guard's large frame. It stood androgynously sheathed in flowing mage's robes, clasping a pair of thin hands together at its waist. The fingers on the hands were long and pale, ending in nails that resembled talons. My eyes traveled upward to the face of the insidious figure.

In the dim light, I made out the shape of two pointed ears adorning the head of this spectral creature. It was Mer. It must have been. The nose was sharp and defined, but streamlined to the angle of the creature's face. Even in the dim luminosity of the frost I could tell the piercing eyes had vertical slits for pupils. They seemed to glow, emanating an empty pull. The looked on as remorselessly as the fire that ravaged the village above. I began to note the most remarkable feature of this entity's visage. The markings of a feline stretched across the gaunt cheeks of the pointed face that gazed vacuously at me now. The eyes blinked, the nose sniffed, and the eyes watched mine intently. I closed my eyes, and for the second time that day, began to accept a fate that I knew would descend faster that I could comprehend.

I felt it close in upon me. My chest heaved, and I surprised myself by speaking out.

"What… Are you?" I asked. A flurry of other questions impatiently waited to be asked.

I felt a talon press to my cheek in response. The specter slowly drew it up, digging a thin score into my face. I moved away, but the figure's deft finger kept in time, stopping before my eye.

Suddenly and without warning, I felt the presence leave the room. I didn't open my eyes; I couldn't believe that death would have retreated twice in one swirling disaster of a day. I waited, and waited again before finally opening my eyes.

The specter had gone, leaving behind only the smell of the guard's blood, the light of the frost, and the thin scrape across my cheek. I tried to stand; I made it a few moments before kneeling down again. I was dizzy, and nauseous, and the bit of hope I'd dared to feel earlier was as buried inside of me as the short-sword was in the back of the guard.

I looked on at the blood covering the guard. The blue light tinted it black. It pooled around him, and had begun to seep across the floor. For the second time that day, I was kneeling in the blood of a kinsman.

I'd had my reservations about this man before; and even though there had been a lapse in the trust I'd given him, I'd never hoped to see him dead. I hadn't even learned his name. Such a small thing became amplified tenfold, and every ache I felt made my self- control falter. I let out an agonized groan, and slumped back.

I bowed my head. A solitary tear rolled its way down the tracks that had been set earlier. The stagnant air seemed to still.

The quiet pressed on my ears. Rarely in my life had I ever experience a silence this total.

A sound broke through the oppressive quiet. It was a soft gurgling. I watched the guard closely. The gurgle had been the flint that ignited my repressed hope, and it fool-heartedly welled up in my chest.

I walked on my knees to the guard, and rolled him gingerly onto his side. I was careful of the sword that still protruded from his back. I his placed his head slowly into my lap, and brushed the hair gently out of his face. He gurgled again.

I checked for a pulse with shaking fingers. After a moment, I thought I'd felt one. My fingers lingered to be sure, and my own heart rate picked up as I felt it again. It was feeble, but readable.

I let his head rest once more on the ground, and my hands went automatically to the pack I'd snatched from the barracks. I dug around frantically, searching for the two healing potions I'd gathered from the chest. I set them on the ground near the guard's head, and rolled him back onto his stomach.

I hadn't wanted to remove the sword from his back, but it was the only course of action I saw. I gripped it firmly, and held my breath. I pulled determinedly upward, and the sword came unstuck with less resistance than I'd predicted. It hadn't been buried as deeply as I thought. Maybe the specter hadn't aimed to kill? I didn't have time to ponder, because a deeper, longer groan echoed around the chamber.

I fingered the sword wearily, knowing I'd need to remove his tunic. I gripped the bottom of his shirt and began to tear at it with the dull blade that was coated in his blood. When I'd fully removed the blood soaked tunic and armor, I reached for one of the potions. I uncorked it with a surprising steadiness, and poured it directly onto the wound on the soldier's back. It foamed and frothed, and I wiped away the blood with the cloth sleeve that lined the inside of my armor. A skin stretched over the wound, but I could tell it would scar.

I rolled the guard over once more, and wiped the sweat away from his forehead with my sleeve. It streaked his face with blood. I uncorked the second healing potion, and pinched his cheeks so that his mouth was open. I poured the potion into his mouth.

He didn't swallow. I tapped his face lightly, but there was no response.

I let a few prayers to Mara slip out as I pinched his nose shut. There was no immediate response, but after a few tense moments, he closed his mouth, and he swallowed.

I laughed out in relief, and began to breathe more evenly. I stroked his hair as my heart slowed, the repetitive motion as soothing to me as I hoped it was to him.

We sat for what must have been hours. He began to move his limbs restlessly, and although my legs became numb folded beneath his head, I remained stationary.

When he finally came to, the natural light I'd seen before had begun to fade. He sat up painfully. The muscles in his injured back rippled as he stretched them, and I remembered all too quickly that I'd had to cut his shirt from his body. He'd be armorless. He looked around searchingly, and eyes found mine. They were sharp with the same steeliness as before. We looked at one another for a long moment.

He cleared his throat experimentally, and spoke.

"Thank you."

I nodded, and avoided his gaze, which suddenly felt hot.

"What was that thing?" He questioned in an almost inaudible tone.

I opened my mouth a few times to speak, but couldn't seem to find the right words to describe the specter that had brought this man so close to death. I finally settled on, "You won't believe me."

"Try me," Was his simple answer.

"It was Mer, of that I'm sure…. But it had the markings of a Kajhit. The eyes of a Kajhit. The… "_claws"_ were absolutely Kajhit. I've never seen anything else like it. Did you…. You couldn't have seen it," I said evasively, saving him from answering a question I knew the answer to. He'd had the sword in his back before he could have seen the specter.

"I'm in no position to call you a liar. That was one powerful frost spell. It must have been a custom-crafted scroll, the way it threw you back like that. And whatever it was, it was behind me before I knew what was happening. And I… I'm lucky to be alive. It could have killed me, _and_ you, for that matter, without struggle. It… it spared us. Why?"

"I have no idea." And I truly didn't. "In any case, we should get moving, before the sun sets… or that thing comes back."

I gestured to the dimming source of light across the room from where we sat. A strange relief flooded the guard's face. He may have even shed a tear at the sight of the glowing passageway, but he pushed himself onto his knees before I could be sure. He attempted to stand, but staggered, clutching his side.

I stood quickly to provide support for the hulking guard. I pushed against him with all my weight, and couldn't help but smell the blood and sweat that clung to him. He laughed lightly at my plight.

"I'm funny, am I?" I asked, laughing along as we shifted all over the place in lopsided dance, the guard's arm draped across my shoulders.

" Your name is Tanella, if I remember correctly?"

"Aye. And yours?" My answer was punctuated with ragged breath, as I was winded from the exertion of supporting the guard.

"Hadvar…" He trailed off with a grimace. "… of Riverwood."

I led him to a stone pillar, and leaned him against it. I bent to pick up his sword. It was heavier than I'd expected, and it took both hands to slip into the holster around the guard's waist. I picked up his pack and handed it to him, and he slung it around his broad shoulders, wincing all the while.

I ducked under his arm once more, and took the first uneven steps toward the passage. We gained a rhythm as we plodded forward.

"It's good to finally meet you," I said, and we trudged unevenly toward the light.

* * *

><p>Edit 217/12: Here's the playlist addon for this chapter :)

1.) The Sword- Celestial Crown (_This is one great stoner-rock anthem. It's just badass in and of itself. I could envision Tanella running from a dragon to this song, easily. This is for the first half of the chapter, before Tanella and Hadvar make it to the Keep._)

2.) Air- Dark Messages (_This is just a segway song, for when Tanella and Hadvar are travelling through the tunnel under the keep, and she gets lost in her thoughts._)

Manchester Orchestra- Virgin (_This one is eerie, and I thought it went well with the specter scene_.)


	3. Welcome to Riverwood

A/N: Hello again! Here's another installment of Tanella's story. I didn't have much time to write over the holidays, but I'm going to try to update every week or so from now on.

First off, I have to say that I'm totally embarrassed about spelling "Sovngarde" incorrectly, and putting "Ralof" as "Rolof" for the entire first chapter. I thought that's what it said in the subtitles of the game, and the Nords were just pronouncing it with heavy accents. I'm thoroughly embarrassed, and I'll make sure it's correct in the future.

There's a lot of Dialogue in this chapter, because I wanted to describe the current climate of Skyrim, and *begin* to dig into Tanella's background. I fact-checked the sciency bits, and I hope I got most of them correct. I also realize there were some congruency mistakes in chapter two. I've tried to catch all of those this time, but leave me a comment or Private Message if you see any mistakes! I've also been thinking of having Tanella join the Companions… thoughts?

I do love comments, I've looked at the three I have so far about ten million times already, which leads me to my next point of interest: I'd like to shout out to shaddowing238, and CalliopeSpeaks88, who (whom?) I have a major author-crush on right now.

Disclaimer: I own no part of the Elder Scrolls series.

Post Script: I've listening to certain songs over and over for inspiration while writing these chapters. Maybe I'll start leaving mini-playlists at the end of each chapter… unless that's stupid. Comment and let me know. (You won't hurt my feelings, I promise!)

Post-Post Script: Sorry for the long author's note again, I'll try to cut down on them from now on. I hope it doesn't detract from the story at all. Enjoy!

…

The guard's weight really was encumbering. We trekked through the small opening that had beckoned with the promise of clean, fresh air. It was longer than I'd previously thought, but the silence of the subterranean caverns was pared away by the faint chirping of unconfined birds, who must have begun to roost for the evening. The tunnel was angled upward, and our weary feet began to find purchase on loose, natural stones, as opposed to the compacted flagstone the tunnel walls had been supported by. I still lead on with caution; although it had been hours since escaping the dragon's attack, a question still lingered as to what awaited us when we emerged.

The sunlight was indeed waning. A combination of instinct and the necessity caused by distress led me through the relatively straight tunnel, fueling my tired physique. I began to feel things that I hadn't had room to before: The boots I'd pilfered from the barracks were at least two times too large, and they rubbed painfully against my heels. The line that the specter had carved into my cheek itched irritatingly, but was easier to ignore than the pain in my torso from where its frost spell had thrown me. I felt as though I was going to collapse.

The guard hadn't spoken to me since we'd exited the cavern, but I felt the tension rolling off of him as we ascended. He sensed freedom, as did I. I almost expected him to whine and wiggle like a pup, but he continued limping on with a fierce determination. It infectiously spurred me forth.

When the path of the tunnel began to widen into the mouth of a cave, I could almost hear his lips slide over his teeth in a gratified smile. He heaved and picked up the pace, and my back began to uncoil at the prospect of letting loose the burden of the guard.

The guard twisted free of my supportive grip, and collapsed to the ground, digging his fingers into the frozen earth. It had been cold enough in the cave, but the wind whipped pointedly in the open, and its icy bite was augmented by the lack of sunlight. The sudden onset of the cold became more easily ignored as my weather- resistant body adjusted. Without the constant worry of freezing to the spot taking up space in my already overburdened psyche, it was filled once more with concerns of the fate that had befallen Helgen- and how it would affect us now.

I scanned the horizon with drowsy eyes, grazing the tree line in my search for the dragon I knew had already fled. I didn't know how far away from Helgen we'd ended up, but I found a brief solace in the air that had since emptied of the screams of townsfolk, and the crackle of cruel flames.

My surroundings were familiar in a bland sort of way. We had ended up on the steep crest of a hill, and there wasn't a path to be had. The winter sky faded rapidly to its familiar backdrop of clumsily placed stars and the lopsided arrangement of Nirn's moons. Masser and Secunda weaved together in their celestial dance. The aurora hadn't come yet this year. _"A late aurora tells of misfortune to come"._ I repeated the adage over and over, and it became almost singsong in my head.

The rocks, the trees, even the skyline brought memories flooding back. Broken, exaggerated, spiraling memories that dragged feelings of panic with them like a ball and chain, carving a rivulet through my concentration. I couldn't form a plan with the whirlwind of remembrance that had encompassed my thoughts. I was at a loss, so I pressed the memories down, attempting to focus instead on the guard, whose name didn't yet belong to the face I saw before me.

He had rolled onto his back, despite his wound, and let out a long, loud sigh. He seemed to deflate as I watched his face relax. The pain-relieving component of the healing potions I'd forced him to ingest must have taken effect. He opened his eyes, which were glazed and glassy from the reflection of the night sky. He blinked rapidly, and spoke.

"Do you know what day of the week it is?"

I laughed flatly at his simple question. After I'd considered it, I felt like crying.

"I do not. I've… lost track."

"Sundas. It's Sundas." His voice cracked slightly as offered his answer. "The first of Morning Star. It's The New Life Festival. Free ale for all. Good cheer for all. A free kiss from Delphine goes to the lad who can drink old Embry under the table." A tear streaked his cheek, the soft, fawn hued light of the just-emerged moon, Masser, the only thing giving him away. "We used to steal sips of mead, and huddle up under a blanket by the millpond to watch for the first aurora of the season. We'd fall asleep before the moon had risen, most often, but I remember once… One particular night, I stayed up. Sven was drunk and asleep by then, but Reah was awake. She told me Sven was fine, and she liked Klause well enough. But she told me I was her favorite. She kissed me then. That was my first kiss, you know. She was my first love."

He sat up then, placing his chin on his knee. He faced away from me, and began to pluck grass from the root. I didn't know how to react to this sudden outpouring of information from the guard. From Hadvar. He spoke as if I'd known the people he'd mentioned personally, and something in the way he described them lent them a familiarity in my mind's eye. I'd been feeling a strange and potent need to continue on, to find my way away from Helgen, from my memories, as swiftly as possible. His voice drew me to him, though, and I silently welcomed the distraction from the inner turmoil that left me feeling even weaker than before. My legs wobbled, inviting me to draw a seat near Hadvar, who had become nothing but an outline in the dusky moonlight. I eventually sat down near him, facing the outcropping, in this action acknowledging him. He drew a breath, indicating that there was more to his story.

"There were eight young men around my age in Riverwood before the war started. Six of them joined the Stormcloaks. Sven and I were the only two who hadn't joined up. Sven was a bit under age, and his mother wouldn't agree to his joining the Stormcloaks; he ran off to that bard's college in Solitude. I'd have joined the fight in a heartbeat, but I had other obligations. I was married, newly so, and Rhea was pregnant. I'd earned a steady job at the mill. I was rooted to where I was, even though it had all happened… a bit out of the normal order. Not to say I didn't love Rhea… I'm not explaining this right.

Well, the other men in the village didn't understand; they'd have left that child same as my father left me and my brother. I couldn't. I wouldn't. Klause in particular took issue with my "_lack of loyalty to Skyrim_." He was one of the first to join up, and… Honestly, he was jealous to no end that Rhea had chosen me. He'd challenged me, and… you know the rest. A feud was born. It was a common thing in our village, between friends, even family. We're a quarrelsome people, us Nords… I just…"

Hadvar trailed off, and my mind filled the last notes of his sentence automatically. Each of my guesses brought me back to my own tumultuous past. His voice drew me back to the present, and I closed my eyes, letting the darkness of my surroundings seep in through my eyelids. I tried focused once more on Hadvar.

"The Stormcloaks had come off a battle near Secunda's kiss, and were retreating- they'd been outnumbered by Imperials nearly three to one, by some accounts. It was the last week of Evening Star, so it was bitterly cold. Whiterun was the nearest settlement, but they ended up in Riverwood. It didn't make any sense; the way to Whiterun was flat, and short. They'd have had to cross the mountains and come through Bleak Falls Barrow to get to Riverwood from Secunda's kiss within the timeframe they gave. At any rate, they demanded shelter from the weather once they arrived. They forced their way into our homes, though most were willing to oblige due to the great sway toward the Stormcloaks. Three of them barged into my home."

He pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, and continued.

"Klause had been one of the three. I don't know if he knew my hut from another, but he grabbed up our game, drank our mead. Slept in our spare room. He was just like the others were. He treated us as if we were strangers to be drained dry and left to fend off the winter with our supplies cut almost in half." He spat the words rapidly and without mercy. It sounded as though he'd thought these words to himself over and over, thousands of times. Bitterness was present in every syllable of every word he set free, but his voice became lighter as they left the reaches of his mind where he'd been locking them. "I realized that the Stormcloaks were nothing but self-entitled boys searching for honor, for glory. Ulfric Stormcloak manipulated them for his own purposes. Our youth was nothing but a means to his selfish end. He preached solidarity, and hope for the true sons of Skyrim… Such a romantic future was never in the stars for Skyrim… for me." He added the last few words quietly.

"It was soon revealed that the Stormcloak soldiers that had taken up residence in Riverwood were deserters. Traitors. Klause had persuaded a pocket of men to abandon their post. They'd been hiding out a Bleak Falls Barrow, but were driven out by bandits. That's why they ended up in Riverwood, and _they_ were the reason the Stormcloaks had been so greatly outnumbered at Secunda's Kiss. The bounty on their heads was more than their weight in gold. It was common knowledge to everyone, it seemed, except for the traitors and those "harboring" them."

Hadvar pushed himself off the ground, and I sensed the pace of his doleful tale picking up as he recklessly traced the outcropping of rock with steps far too large for safety.

"The day it happened… Was the day that the innkeeper's wife, Delphine, predicted the sex of the child. She dangled a soul gem over Rhea's tummy, and it pointed south of her navel. It was to be a girl. Rhea seemed disappointed; I couldn't have been happier. She wouldn't be able to join the Stormcloaks without her father's consent." His jaded voice was streaked with lost, ghostlike hope that transported me to another, lighter time.

He stopped at the edge of the hill. The toes of his boot hung slightly over the edge, and the wind whipped his hair away from his face. I almost reached out to grab his tunic leg, however useless it would have been at stopping him from throwing himself off the cliff face. Before I acted, though, he turned and spoke once more, his eyes dreamily illuminated by the light of Masser.

"That was exactly a year ago today."

Something in my mind suddenly connected the dots that had been mapped out deliberately through Hadvar's story. The shocking recognition of the date cracked through my mind like a whip, and I let my own memories overflow from the tiny compartment I'd been keeping them in. They filled their regular slots in my worn concentration. I recalled the night I'd heard of the New Life Massacre, which seemed distant and insignificant, as did most things from my cushioned past.

My mother's words echoed through my memories, and as she spoke through days of the year that had elapsed, I saw our great dining hall materialize around her. All our finery had been laid across the rough wooden table that held the secrets of our forefathers. All of my siblings had gathered to celebrate coming of the new year, and the ramparts of the great hall resonated with the din of merriment and reminiscence. My father was seated commandingly at the head of the table, and my mother leaned in close, speaking only to her husband. Her words became strangely clear through the clamor of the others, burrowing themselves shallowly into my memory bank.

"_Gortag, Delaine was just mentioning a Stormcloak uprising in that village near Whiterun…. Was it Riverwood?'_

"_Yes, deserters. A terrible shame, but Ulfric did what was necessary."_

"_He always seems to."_

Casual laughter, and the scene fades out.

Even The memory of my father's unconcerned tone made my skin crawl. He ended what would have been a lengthy political discussion between the vociferous Wearhard children in his usual brisk manner. I hadn't felt the need to delve deeper into the subject, the merriment around me tempting my concentration away from the dark matters of the new war we'd landed ourselves in. I learned later that what had been "necessary" was raiding and then torching half of the town, killing all of the Stormcloaks that had taken up shelter there, along with some of the townspeople. The servant my mother had mentioned, Delaine, had lost her parents in that raid. She'd also lost a sister, who had been pregnant almost to term.

Bile rose in my throat, and the threat of tears made me swallow, hard. Hadvar read the recognition in my eyes. My face burned hot again, but for a different reason. He must have known who my family was, I'd fool heartedly proclaimed my full title when asked, expecting it to be my last declaration. I blinked the tears away, and I needed to say something. Anything.

"I never truly realized… I'm so sorry." My voice was breathy and short. My small, paltry apology was carried away on the bitter Nordic winds that had returned to the front of my mind all too suddenly.

Although I'd heard of the incident, it had seemed so far away from the walls of my father's home. Oh, I'd argue against the war it any day of the week. When confronted with the awful truths of battle, though, I let the facts slip out of my mind. They floated up and away, joining bad dreams and worrying thoughts that I wasn't ever put in a position to fully realize. Hadvar looked at me. His eyes were alight with Masser's pink light, and he seemed to look through me. It may have been lost on the wind, but he continued without acknowledging my trifling apology.

"I watched them… I watched them kill her. I watched them kill our child growing inside of her. I tried to kill them with my bare hands, unarmed, and barely escaped alive. I'd never wanted to kill anyone before… _I _wanted to die."

He paused, breathing through his nostrils heavily.

"I started out of the village. I had no idea where I was heading, and I was badly injured. I was closer to death than I was in that cave today." He pointed to the vacuous mouth of the cave. "I laid down in the middle of the path I'd been following, and waited to die. I could still smell the fire on my clothes… I don't know how long I laid there, praying for death. I remember seeing the first aurora, and it went black after that." He drummed his fingers on the side of his leg, and I sensed the climax of his story nearing with every beat.

"Some Imperial soldiers stumbled upon me, and I ended up in Solitude. I healed steadily, and I was persuaded to enlist in the Imperial army. I trained with them, graduated to the rank of soldier faster than any in my regiment. It was closest I'd ever get to taking revenge on the Stormcloaks, but it was never enough. And you know, I never did return to Riverwood." There was a strained sense of pride in his voice, as if his sorrow was battling his vanity for acknowledgment.

Hadvar squeezed his eyes shut, as if deciding which of his words to let go next. His story seemed to have drained him. I too felt worn down, having so much of his sorrow passed on to me. He opened his mouth to speak once more.

"And somehow, some way, I've ended up on this hill, here with you. As a Wearhard, it seems I'd have every reason to have left you to the dragon. But I didn't. Do you know why?"

Another query I didn't have a response to. I sat patiently, waiting for him to answer his own question.

"Because you _look_ like her. You made me remember. And… I've never told anyone this before."

He shook his head, and I realized he was at as much of a loss as I was for having shared his woeful tale with the very representation of everything he hated most.

"Well… I never did put much store in my father's political opinions," I added with a world-weary smile. It felt blasphemous, but it was true.

"I always felt that the Stormcloaks were too ragtag to defend Skyrim from the Thalmor, in the off chance that they did win the civil war. I'm not exactly advocating for the Empire, but the Stormcloaks are nothing more than a glorified Thieves Guild, thrown together form the poorest, least educated of Skyrim's youth." My answer sounded a bit rehearsed, and in a sense, it was. I'd expressed these sentiments to my father countless times. The difference this time was that they were being acknowledged. Hadvar nodded.

"Then we're on level ground, at least in a political sense. You know… I think maybe I started out telling you this for a different reason than I ended it with. I think I was preparing myself… to return. To go back to Riverwood. I haven't been since…" He trailed off after reiterating his long absence from Riverwood.

This time I nodded. "Do you know where we are?" I looked over the sheer edge of the hill pointedly. "Maybe we should stay until sunrise…?"

"I know where we are." He took a deep breath, looking out over the cold, mountainous horizon. It had just become dark enough to make out the dull glow of a town over the tree line.

"That's Riverwood," He said softly.

Without waiting for a reply, he began to deftly stride down the outline of the cliff we'd been perched upon. He brushed aside a patch of hanging moss that'd been obscuring a path. I could see in the dewy light the moons afforded that the path was bordered by sheer stone on one side, and a canopy of vines on the other. His feet met the path with a familiarity that my blind traipsing couldn't ever match. He seemed driven, or rather pulled forward by some magnetic beckoning. He traveled rapidly, and the geometric spots of moonlight that shined through the patchwork of vines slid over his arms with dizzying speed.

His next words seemed buoyant with an almost frantic hope, but impersonal compared to the ones he'd finished sharing with me only a few moments before. His excited tone jumbled his words together into one euphoric mass.

"I wonder if the Inn survived? Everyone talks about Black Briar Meadery, but Alvor's mead is the most coveted in all of Skyrim. We can eat, and rent a room… or two," He added laughingly. My stomach began to ache at the mention of food. "If there's not one available, we can always bunk with…" his words trailed off into silence. He didn't speak again until we reached the end of the treacherous path.

"Only a bit further now."

He lightly hopped over dense tundra scrub, and his feet met the ground evenly in spite of the rough terrain. I trampled loudly through the undergrowth, but it seemed of little consequence to the hushed guard. He seemed to know where he was leading me, even in the condensed darkness. Despite my assurance in his sense of direction, we seemed to have very different ideas of how far "bit further" really was.

My mind had begun to drift away, filled with benign thoughts of what I'd eat at the Inn, and the burgeoning cold that nipped at my extremities intermittently, when my thoughts cleared enough for me to give it notice. The dewy grass that Hadvar had been leading me through was soon replaced with the well-trodden gravel of a hand forged path. The White River glistened lazily, and my eyelids drooped sleepily. Every so often a gust of wind or cracking joint would pull me back into awareness. My splinted shins found a pattern that was easy to follow. I was nearly grateful for the bitter wind; the bruises and cuts littering my face would have throbbed if not for the numbing drafts. I decided to take inventory of my injuries, and perhaps pursue an apothecary when we reached Riverwood.

A cut across my eyebrow was swollen with a minor infection. My nose was bloody, and I imagined I looked a sight. Despite the show of blood, I didn't think it was broken. There was the scratch from the specter, which was now uncomfortably reddened. A busted lip left a coppery aftertaste in my mouth, and I couldn't help sucking lightly at it as I continued counting my wounds. My shoulders were strained from the tension of the day, and my back been used far beyond its normal capacity. My wrists were raw where bindings had held them together.

My passionate reprise in seeing two pricks of light in the distance outweighed any physical pain I'd been experiencing. I sensed Hadvar slowing, and shortly before we reached the torches at the gates of Riverwood, he stopped.

"Tanella… I don't know what we'll find here. I don't know if I'll be welcome."

He shifted his weight nervously from hip to hip.

" Hadvar, if I've proven anything to you today, it's my ability to escape in a pinch."

He laughed earnestly, and in the ambient moonlight that Masser and Secunda gave, I saw him smile.

"I suppose you're right. Welcome to Riverwood."

* * *

><p>Edit 217/12: Another playlist :)

1.) The Dandy Warhols- Sleep (_This song is sweet, and sad. I imagine it playing in the background as Hadvar tells Tanella about the New Life Massacre_.)

2.) The Pixies- Where is My Mind? (_I imagine this playing as they're making their way to Riverwood. She's in shock, and she feels like she might be going crazy, and the only things tethering her to normalcy are her physical aches and pains. And I just love the Pixies :)_)


	4. Old Friends, or New Foes?

A/N: A new year, a new chapter. Sorry for the length between updates. I was having a bit of writers block, but I'm over it now! I know this chapter is quite a lot shorter than the others, but It was honestly altogether too long, and I ended it in the only place that really made sense. I also felt like it was moving a bit slowly, so here's more action-y stuff! I wasn't quite done with Hadvar in this chapter, but the next chapter gets back into character with Tanella.

I'd like to shout out to "x – Beyond – B", for the awesome review, and "x kyuubi z" for the idea that's kind of gotten me over my writer's block. I pretty much live for reviews right now, and I appreciate critiques as much as I appreciate compliments! I'll be updating quite soon, I hope. So here goes. As always, enjoy!

….

I could feel Hadvar's confidence waning with every step we took toward the gateway to Riverwood.

He'd remained armorless since the cave, and gooseflesh covered his unprotected arms. Despite his bareness, his shoulders were tensed and holding his spine straight. His fingers fluttered nervously at the hilt of his sword. He took steps that were precisely even, and concentrated on placing his strides identically each time he pressed a foot to the gravel. I gripped his forearm lightly, and he jumped as if startled out of a reverie. He apologized tensely, and gripped my digits in his large, clammy hand.

I'm not sure what I expected upon entering Riverwood. I'd heard of the great rebuild that the Jarl of Whiterun had been benefactor to, but Hadvar's story had burned my perceived image of the village to the ground.

As we neared the wide, open archway, the first thing that I noticed was how very _quiet_ it was. The sounds of the sieged town I'd held in my mind were markedly absent. There were no screams, and the light shone not from pillaged homes, but torches that burned vigilantly along the only street in the town.

The night was settling snugly over the hamlet. The darkness of the evening read false in the minds of mill workers and shopkeepers; they retreated to their homes despite the youth of the evening. It couldn't have been later than five hours past midday. Despite the fresh bloom of the night, the wide lane was empty of life. No clucking hens, no barking dogs chasing laughing children. The trees blew in the breeze, the torches remained brightly lit, and the river ran through the mill. This was normal enough; it was the lack of the noises that usually accompanied these common happenings that created the odd divide within my stomach, where my uneasiness settled comfortably.

"Tanella… Don't. Move." Hadvar spoke without moving his lips, and the punctuation between his words told me that he was serious as death. My arms tensed as my unease became warranted, and I rued once more my lack of a bow. I squeezed his forearm. I hadn't realized how firmly I'd been gripping his arm until he pulled it from my grasp. His moved it to the scabbard at his side, and the dreadfully familiar sound of a sword being drawn rang around the disconcertingly quiet lane.

"Only cowards hide in shadows." Hadvar spoke out, seeing something I did not. The steam from his short breathing was the only factor that revealed any unease. He seemed to speak the insult to the air, which shimmered tauntingly, never revealing to me the source of danger.

A smooth voice broke through the dense, wintry air.

"And only Nords hide behind their backward senses of chivalry." There was a hearty twang, and I was knocked to the ground. Hadvar's arm was around my waist, and I was prone on my stomach. I raised my eyes in time to see an arrow slide through the air. It stuck somewhere in the ground behind us, but I couldn't have heard it over my frantic breathing.

Before I had time to react, a door to my left was flung wide. Panic had made my vision strangely clear, and I saw torchlight illuminating the rough face of a man. I'd thought Hadvar was large, but this man was truly huge. His hulking form filled the doorway, and his hands looked as though they could crush a man's skull with a simple squeeze. His hair and beard were plaited, and I almost expected the rasping tone of his voice before he spoke.

"Faendal! What in the name of the gods do you think you're doing?"

"The task I've been charged with, _Alvor_."

Recognition caused me to look again at the man; Hadvar had mentioned an Alvor. Despite his gruffness and my compromising position, there was something I trusted in the man. His gruff voice spoke again.

"Then we're to have a talk as to what the word guard means, elf. I've told you never to kill em' unless I say to kill em', 'ave I not?" He spoke in the roundabout way of Western Skyrim. One of Alvor's hands went almost comically to his hip, and he pointed a finger as he addressed the invisible Faendal. He stepped down from the doorway, and approached the scene wearily. I followed the line of his pointed finger. It led my eyes farther down the lane. It seemed our attacker had presented himself. A smirking wood elf sat perched upon a fencepost in front of the darkened porch he'd been hiding in. He had features belonging to most Wood Elves: Yellow eyes, a prominent brow, and long, graceful extremities. His hair, though, was shockingly white; it seemed to absorb the moonlight. The elf fingered his bow playfully, and I spied a full quiver of iron arrows attached to his back as he hopped lightly down.

"I don't think that will be necessary. If you look a bit more closely, my dearest Alvor, you'll see that I have not killed anyone. I await your orders eagerly." Derision was present in his every syllable. He gripped the bow tightly once more, plucking at the string mockingly.

Alvor grunted, and turned his attention to the pseudo- captives at his feet.

"What of it then? The lamb and the lion? Prisoners escaped? What had the pair of ya' stealin' down the south road at this time? Up, then." Alvor plucked the arrow from the ground behind us, snapping it in two with one hand. There was a whining grunt form Faendal. "I said up, and I shan't say it again."

I obediently attempted to sit upright, but Hadvar's arm was still bracing my waist. He relinquished his hold slowly, and Alvor gripped my hand and pulled me forward into a standing position. Hadvar, however, moved to a kneeling position slowly. He faced away from Alvor.

"Well... Who are ya'?"

Hadvar hung his head and chuckled darkly, still facing away from Alvor. "Still ordering me around, Uncle? You wouldn't have known it's been a year."

His words were utterly personal. Alvor's hand went to his mouth, and he too seemed at a momentary loss for words.

"Hadvar." It was a statement, flat and toneless. Hadvar stood, and turned to face Alvor.

The men gripped one another's forearms, and pulled into a gruff embrace. They spoke in half sentences, and Hadvar gripped the back of Alvor's vest as though he were a drowning man reaching for a lifeline. Even the contemptuous elf kept his silence in a sort of reverence for the two wordless men.

The men broke dryly apart, and what had passed between them was blown away on the wind.

"What in Oblivion happened to your shirt, boy?"

Hadvar's brows drew together, and for a moment, I thought he would cry. His shoulders began to shake, and I feared the worst, but laughter rumbled forth from his bare chest.

Hadvar sent me a sideways glance. "It's a bit of a long story."

Faendal cleared his throat, and I heard the taunting twang of a plucked bow. Alvor waved a dismissive hand in the elf's direction, which seemed to have dammed the river of insults no doubt rushing through the Faendal's mind, because he held his tongue. Alvor threw his sizeable arm around Hadvar's shoulders. He seemed to have forgotten my presence altogether, and he spoke in a flurry of words that rushed past my ears in a stream too wildly rapid to follow.

"We'll have time aplenty, won't we? Come on, come on, we'll go to the Inn. A celebration is in order! We'll have Delphine set up your room… Rooms? Come! Come!"

Alvor was nearly shouting, and I noticed a limp in his gait that I hadn't before. His arm held Hadvar in a vice grip and I followed their outlines toward the notorious Inn. Faendal trailed closely behind.

"Another celebration? It's going to be a long night, believe you me." He sullenly intoned, and I almost listened. Alvor charged ahead, but the elf stayed strangely close to me.

The lopsided duo mounted the bottom step to a long building with collapsing roof, and smoke unfurled invitingly from the chimney. As Alvor placed a wheel-sized palm on the wood of the door, I let hope rise in my chest once again.

The two men passed through the door, and my foot met the bottom step. Before I could reach the next however, I felt a tugging on my rucksack. I whipped around. The pointed face of the elf peered into mine.

"They don't take kindly to strangers." He placed a hand insinuatingly to his chest. "You'd do well to remember that. They're going to want to know your story. Be it come morning, or too many drinks down Alvor's gullet, it's going to happen… so be prepared."

A flurry of questions was born behind my eyes, but the elf turned on his heel, and walked away from me, down the darkened lane. His words bounced around in my mind as I watched him depart, but the wind was wrapping its icy fingers around my arms. I rubbed them briskly, thinking only of the warmth awaiting me, and turned again to the door of the Inn. I pushed against the heavy wood with both of my hands, but stopped, once again feeling the awful coldness of solitude. I realized in one frantic moment that I was, despite my recently departed companions, alone. I shook my head, as to physically rid myself of the unpleasant thoughts. If the elf was at all credible, I'd have to be on my toes. I ducked my head, took a deep, fortifying breath, and entered the Riverwood Inn.

* * *

><p>217/12: And my final playlist edit. They'll be included on the end of every chapter in the future, starting with chapter 5 ^.^

1.) The Violent Femmes- Color Me Once (_This song is great, and I think it goes well with this chapter. Tanella arrives in what looks like a ghost town, is almost killed, and has a mini existential crisis before entering the Inn. It's a bitter, biting tune, and I love it._)


	5. Chancers, Cheats, and Celebrations

A/N: New chapter :) I know it's super long (try 4,000 words longer than usual, and 26 full pages on MS Word!) but there was a lot I needed to get in, and I didn't want to shorten it like last time. I guess you could think of the extra content in this chapter like the continuation of last chapter, because it was so short.

This chapter in particular took a lot out of me, (sorry for the long time between updates, to those who were waiting). There's a lot of dialogue, and a little action.

Most of the grammatical errors in the dialogue are purposeful, unless something sounds really off kilter. I wanted to give Hadvar and the other Riverwoodians a rural dialect, although in the game, most Nords seem well spoken (save for the occasional "ain't").

Finally, I'd like to say thanks to all of my reviewers. Reviews are the best thing in the world, and they fuel this fic. So, if you can find it your heart, donate a review today :)

Disclaimer: I own no part of The Elder Scrolls series.

….

Warmth enveloped me immediately as I entered the Inn, and my extremities tingled at the sudden change in temperature. I rubbed my hands together briskly, and as I gathered my wits, I began to take in my surroundings. The main room of the Inn was larger than I could have imagined. A vaulted ceiling hung cavernously above me; the bulk of the structure hadn't enough support, and dipped slightly in the middle. A balcony wrapped around the ramparts of the Inn. The walls were unevenly dotted with doors that led to rooms for rent, and a bar dominated the far end of the hall, the wall behind it well stocked with barrels of unmarked alcohol. A girl of maybe two-and-ten sat at the untidy bar with her chin upon her hand, observing the room as I did; she managed to do it with an air of boredom that was almost infectious. There were six long, worn, and knotted dining tables, divided in half by a large roasting pit in the center of the room. Buckets of water hung heavily next to plucked pheasants, rabbits and legs of lamb that were suspended and glistening over the pit, slowly broiling over the herb imbued fire.

For the all the hall's shabby grandeur, there were noticeably few occupying it; only a handful of patrons were scattered sparsely along the benches that bordered the tables. Hadvar and Alvor's faces were absent among them. A comely blonde barmaid wafted down the aisles, retrieving empty tankards of mead and ale from in front of nameless faces, and gracefully replacing them with haphazardly full ones that foamed cheerfully to the brim.

The patrons were seemingly impervious to the false warmth of the atmosphere. Thoughts of what this day must mean to these people made the barmaid's innocuous movements seem dastardly and cavorting. Their unanimous attitude seemed even to dim the lighting, and melancholy began to leach into my own frame of mind. Men and women sat apart from one another, each absorbed in a unique despondency; at least, deeply enough to pay no notice to my entrance. Some dejectedly nursed tankards of mead or ale; others only watched the fire that dimly lit the room. One man had himself in a drunken stupor; he sat dozing in a lonely corner that the barmaid almost pointedly avoided. A silent bard sat facing the roasting pit with his lute forlornly laid to the side, un-plucked.

I hadn't noticed the young, delicate girl vacate her position at the bar, but she'd recovered a heavy looking log from a pile that occupied a nook near the door behind me; she hefted it into the waning flames that burned in the roasting pit in the center of the floor. Ashes sparked eagerly forth, drawn upward to the open smokestack in the center of the vaulted ceiling. I watched their ascent, my eyes lingering on the distant square of sky. I could just see a few hazy pinpricks that spoke of the stars hidden by the sloping roof. The log caught fire and began to smoke in a lively manner. The gray haze obscured the velvet patch of night until I could barely make it out. My eyes drifted down again, and found their way to Alvor and Hadvar.

They had materialized at the side of the bar, where they stood speaking to the young girl. Alvor laughed jovially. The girl embraced Hadvar briefly, and he mussed up her hair in turn.

The three of them simultaneously turned their attention to the slight blonde woman, but four pairs of eyes watched as the serving maid lightly set her empty platter down, wiped her hands on her apron, and threw her arms around Hadvar's neck. He leaned into her embrace, and something inside of me hardened. They seemed to have forgotten my presence, at any rate, so I stepped forward and pulled my knees up to take a seat on the bench opposite the bard.

They spoke in hushed voices; the blonde woman caressed Hadvar's face and clasped him tightly around his midriff. Alvor wore a look of strained happiness; it hung heavily on his features, as if he were prepared for it to fade at any moment. The waiflike girl was flushed and gesturing animatedly; even her new found enthusiasm didn't carry to my ears over the crackling of the flames.

The minutes slid past, and the gloom of the others seated around me began to take its hold. I picked blood and dirt from under my nails as I watched the group conferring at the bar, and my battered body began to ache once more. I wondered if they'd forgotten my existence; if they hadn't, were they speaking of me? What if Hadvar told them the reason we'd met in Helgen- or my full name? The thoughts drifted across my psyche, and I should have been worried, but I couldn't seem to find the energy to work up any uneasiness. They spoke in low whispers; there was an occasional laugh, and even a heated bout of bickering. Hadvar's eyes flickered to mine only twice; though the girl fluctuated between watching me and playing with her hair, removed from the conversation. I felt hollow as I tried to concentrate on their lips, on what they might have been saying. The perfumed smoke from the fire floated about, and after a hard silence, I felt myself dozing.

The bard had turned in his seat, and I could feel his eyes grazing my face. Feeling suddenly more alert, I turned away from Hadvar and his companions to look deliberately at him. Strangely, he didn't speak, but gestured with an open palm to his face. My hand jumped to my own nose as I remembered the blood that had caked onto my upper lip.

I removed my hand and looked challengingly at the bard, who, instead of replying, shrugged his shoulders and slid his untouched tankard of mead across the table, along with a plate of bread and cheese. I nodded my thanks, and swilled the mead around the mug. I took a tentative sip; it was slightly flat, and the sweetness of the honeyed liquid did very little to mask its strength. That said, I hadn't realized my thirst until it was addressed, and I took a longer draw when the mead next met my lips. The metallic taste of the tankard sent a shiver down my spine, one that didn't escape the bard. He placed and elbow on the table and supported his face with his hand, and watched as I sipped slowly at the proffered drink.

Despite my thirst, I couldn't stomach much of the dubiously effective mead. I pushed the mug slightly forward, indicating that I'd finished, and nodded once more in appreciation. The bard gave me a stolid nod in turn, and turned back to his lonely lute and the dimming fire as I turned again to the bar. My head felt light, and my heart beat heavily in my chest. I hadn't had any beverage so rich in some time, and my body reminded me of the fact nearly as well as my logic did. I grabbed a crust of bread, thinking to soak up some of the heavy mead. Even while attempting to be sparing, I wolfed the crust down in mere seconds, grateful that the bard still seemed to be watching the flames. I finished the bread, and attempted to down the cheese discretely, but I couldn't help the soft smack of my lips.

With the edge of my hunger sated, I looked on at the group still gathered at the bar; they looked somehow lopsided. I couldn't place the difference for a moment. After searching again, I realized that the girl had disappeared. She danced back into the picture shortly with a fresh tunic in hand. Hadvar smiled and thanked her, and pulled it over his head. He did so haltingly; the effects of the healing potions had faded, and the wound in his back must have been troubling him. Once he'd accomplished dressing himself, he nodded to me, motioning me forth with his fingers.

My stomach gave an uncomfortable jolt, and I queasily pondered exactly how much space in my stomach that bread would be taking up. I pushed slowly away from the table. The bench scraped loudly across the flagstone, but the patrons of the Inn seemed not to notice, or at least had enough courtesy- or apathy- to ignore it. As I stood, I was conscious again of my appearance. I hopelessly smoothed the front of my large, pilfered cuirass. The boots rubbed at the ruts in they'd created earlier in the back of my heels and I looked at the floor as I walked, stopping a few paces before their watching eyes. They were all black in the shadowy luminescence of the roasting pit.

"Uncle, this is-"

"So girl, what's to say of your part in it?"

The question had been rather curtly posed by Alvor. He looked at me unabashedly, disregarding my battered appearance. His faced was drawn as he interrupted his nephew. He hadn't yet spoken directly to me; I hadn't known whether to be grateful or weary of it. The accusatory air of his question tipped the scales in favor of the latter, and my hands began to sweat. I nervously wiped them down the front of my armor again as the feeling of trust this man had inspired in me earlier evaporated. I blinked at him stupidly as thoughts of the elf distracted my focus. "_They don't take kindly to strangers_." In my mind's eye, Faendal plucked his bowstring impatiently, snapping me back to reality. The seconds stretched on in silence. I looked at Hadvar, and he scratched his head uselessly. I closed my eyes, and swallowed before answering.

"I'm not entirely sure what you mean… Sir." I added the last part as an afterthought, and it hung gracelessly in the air between us. I was not doing myself any favors with this man.

"You saw this dragon?" He spoke bluntly and slowly, as if he were interrogating a guilty child of a folly he knew they'd committed.

"I did." I couldn't bring myself to look at him, for fear of the relief in my eyes being read by this man's hard gaze. I realized he'd only summoned me for confirmation of what Hadvar would have already shared, and I gravitated back toward my seat, even to the door. Anywhere that would keep me away from having to explain myself. Somehow I managed to stay put, though the muscles in my tired legs jumped, insisting that I remove myself from the daunting threat of this man's questioning.

Alvor's hand went to his forehead as he spoke. "I guess that gives me my answer. Gods. You weren't ever a liar, Hadvar… but a dragon? _A bloody dragon_. Hilde came babbling about a dragon round' noontime… her mind ain't the most… intact, if you get my meanin'… so it's true then?"

"Aye. Helgen's been destroyed, and it would seem half the Imperial Legion with it. Ulfric Stormcloak hadn't been executed; it's difficult to say whether he could have escaped. There was surely a panic; he could have escaped same as us."

"By the Gods…" Alvor swore softly, worrying his beard between two thick fingers. "On the morrow, we'll leave for Whiterun. Not half a day's ride from here. The Jarl needs to hear of this." He spoke absently, as if to himself. He turned again to me, his heavy brows low over his eyes.

"And your name?"

The blood rushed to my face. Alvor was surely the most abrupt and changeful person I'd ever met. He'd relaxed while speaking to Hadvar, but tensed automatically when he so much as glimpsed me from the corner of his ever observant eyes, and addressing me as one would address a criminal.

The strange man couldn't have known that the syllables that formed his question each fit together specifically to form my bane, but so they did. I cleared my throat, and tried to formulate a coherent answer.

"Tanella… Tanella." The omittance of my full title left a strange gap in my sentence, which was filled awkwardly by the repetition of my first name. It felt like a lie, and Alvor sensed this. His eyes narrowed. I looked upon his face as he appraised mine. The crinkles at the corner of his gray eyes- the same gray, in fact, as Hadvar's- deepened, and in them I saw the fierceness of a warrior for a fleeting moment. It had been a handsome face once, but was now well creased, and drooping in a constant grimace- not unlike a hound's. I wondered for one moment- one brief, ridiculous moment- if he had read my thoughts, because he rubbed his cheeks as I studied them, eyeing me all the while. He breathed slowly out through his nostrils in controlled exasperation before began to speak.

"Well, Tanella Tanella, Hadvar's vouched for you. Hasn't shared the specifics, but he said you helped him out of a right hairy situation, and… well, I'm grateful." He spoke gruffly, clipping each word before they could betray any emotion. "I'm not sure of your story, but we'll get around to that. Any friend of Hadvar's is a friend of ours. I assume you've no gold… we'll have you for the night." He spoke the words begrudgingly. I could tell he'd been out voted on the matter. "Delphine here will get you all cleaned and situated. As for us, Hadvar, we've got a celebration to attend to, if you'll oblige. We've grown in number. Once the rebuild began, the workers the Jarl started setting up camp along the edge of the forest, and most never left. We'll have a full house. You can settle in yourself, Hadvar, and then we'll get things moving." There was a dogged honesty to the way Alvor spoke, and despite his coldness, I knew that I could at least trust in the promise of a room.

He looked at me and gestured to the pretty blonde woman, who smiled. I didn't return it, but she was instantly preoccupied with the whispered instructions she gave over her shoulder. The girl appeared from behind her, and trotted lightly away, balancing on the tips of her toes. She surprised me in her strength once again when she hoisted a wooden bucket of water from the spit over the roasting pit. She climbed one of the twin staircases quickly and lightly, despite her burden. I thanked Alvor, and he nodded wordlessly in return. Delphine grasped my hand, speaking warmly. I didn't reciprocate her warmth, and my arm hung flaccid between us. She ignored my impassiveness.

"It's really no trouble at all. We're just so glad to have Hadvar back. I'm Delphine, by the by." Smiles seemed to come easily to this woman, and she wore one as removed her hands from mine to brush a lock of unruly hair back from Hadvar's eye. My hand, the one she'd been holding, clenched into a fist as I observed her undeniable beauty. Laugh lines and crowsfeet were the only marks of her age; her blonde hair was pulled into a messy knot at the base of her long, graceful neck, and her serving tunic, though a bit tattered, fit her curves like a glove. When her eyes found Alvor's, however, her lovely smile faded and was replaced with a look of familiar annoyance. "He's not always so prickly." She sighed, addressing me. "We're always a bit weary of strangers, especially after…" She cleared her throat. Her allusion to the New Life Massacre was obviously an uncomfortable one; she bristled slightly. I knew something of loss, and I could read it clearly through her tense body language; the telltale lines puckered her forehead, and she wrung her hands nervously. In spite of my determination not to like this woman, I smiled in compassion. Her own easy grin slid comfortably back into place.

Alvor grunted at Delphine's offhand reference to his less than welcoming attitude, and she rolled her eyes. Delphine began to lead me toward the door the girl had disappeared behind, and Alvor headed off in a direction of his own; until Hadvar stopped us.

"Uncle, there's something else."

"Well tell me now, because I'm readily prepared to hear it." Alvor's eyes slid out back into focus as he turned once more, and he absently put a meaty hand on Hadvar's shoulder.

"I guess I should start from the end and go backward."

"I've not a mind to how you do it, just tell your damned tale, lad!" Alvor laughed raspingly, clapping Hadvar's shoulder. Hadvar winced, and ducked slowly out from under his uncle's grasp. He turned, and lifted his shirt to expose the partially healed gash that marred his back. He pivoted slightly, and the dim light from the roasting pit was reflected off of the smoothness of the scar. Alvor's hand went to his mouth, and Delphine gasped softly.

"The war…?" Delphine asked faintly.

"I dearly wish it was a battle wound, but nay. Helgen Keep is where they house prisoners- you know of it?"

"I do." Alvor seemed to hold back the rest of his words and in doing so urged Hadvar on.

"It's where I'd been stationed for months. I knew it inside and out - When we were escaping, I lead us through the tunnel they'd built into the hillside to ferry convicts through, so as not to take them through the main part of the village." He'd lowered his shirt, and turned to face us once more. "Something had the same idea. We were almost out- I could see daylight at the end of the passage- and something… stopped us. It was almost completely dark, and it stuck a shortsword into me, damn near killed me, and used some sort of frost spell on Tanella. It _would_ have killed me, if it weren't for Tanella. She had a few healing potions on her, and she nearly dragged me out of the cave. It gave me that scar, and left Tanella that right pretty nick there." He reached out; lightly tracing the swollen scratch the specter had carved into my cheek. In that moment, I was nearly grateful for the sundry cuts and bruises that lay scattered in a grisly constellation across my visage. Without their inherent ability to obscure, I'd have been very clearly blushing. Hadvar continued, oblivious to my vexation.

"It left us. It must have meant to leave us alive… I don't know what it wanted. It's damned dangerous, whatever it was, and you know Riverwood is the closest settlement to Helgen."

"Dragons, murderous lunatics and you, returned from the dead! Must be something about firsts of Morningstar. Bad omens. A curse. More to share with the Jarl, if he'll hear such nonsense. We'll need extra guard. I don't think the elf would stand a chance next to a dragon… or the like." Alvor sighed openly, and rubbed his face with an open palm. Hadvar observed his uncle with a darkened expression; it added a morbid weight to his next words.

"It wasn't a lunatic. It wasn't _human_."

"Then what was it boy? A witch or a troll? A ghoul? A ghost?" He laughed while posing his questions, though there was strain present in every guffaw.

"Well… Tanella saw it. It had me laid out before I could get a good look. She said that it…"

He trailed off, indicating that I should describe the specter. Each of their eyes found their way to my face as I stammered into my brief description of the specter.

"It had pointed ears, like an elf's, but its eyes… a cat's, and black as pitch. Maybe darker. It looked Mer, as I said, but it had the markings of a cat. No fur, though. And… claws." I traced the scratch in my cheek again, and Hadvar shuddered.

Alvor looked at me searchingly. He then threw his hands up in mock defeat, demonstrating again his moodiness and indeterminacy. "I've not a mind to deal with such tales. Hadvar, you choose a room; we're like to be full up after tonight. Meet the elf and I near the smithy when you're ready."

He turned resolutely then, walking heavily to the door of the Inn. His brief answer had ended the conversation in a strange place, and it hung oddly between the three of us that remained. Hadvar was the first to speak after Alvor's unceremonious departure.

"He's had a lot to take in tonight. Don't take it to heart Tanella. He's good, he just needs time. He'll come 'round."

I laughed through the doubt that plagued my mind. "I'm in no position to object. I can't believe I'm even here for him to insult. I'm grateful, really."

He and Delphine laughed. Hadvar awkwardly knuckled my shoulder, and ran his fingers through his hair as he stretched, wincing, and then smiling drolly at me once he'd finished. He looked as if he was going to respond, but the laughter slowly faded from his eyes, and he retreated to the staircase leading to the second story. Delphine smiled once again, and faced the length of the hall, clapping her hands loudly together. Her voice echoed around the quiet hall, surprisingly boisterous for having left such a small frame.

"You can stay or you can go, but we're leaving this attitude behind. The town's coming to call; it's going to be a bit crowded in here. So make up your minds, and do so quickly."

Only a few vacated their seats. The bard strummed his lute tunelessly, though the sound chimed hopefully across the hall. Others seemed as though they hadn't heard her less than passive announcement. Despite the lack of movement, the atmosphere in the room seemed less constricting, and when I looked toward the smokestack, I could see the stars again. Delphine lightly touched my shoulder, and motioned for me to follow. She led me past the roasting pit, and to the staircase opposite the one Hadvar had mounted only moments ago. We climbed slowly, and she took me through a nondescript door at the far end of the hall.

She opened it wide to expose a chamber swirling with steam. The girl sat at the edge of a copper bath, tracing patterns lightly in the hot water. There was a single bed pressed into a corner. Towels were neatly draped over the edge of a plain vanity. Delphine snapped her fingers at the girl, who hopped down from edge of the tub, snatching up an empty bucket as we looked on.

"Dorthe, I need you to get a clean tunic from my quarters, and another bucket of water. Hop to it!" Delphine swatted at the girl as she passed, and I heard a fleeting giggle as she disappeared into the steam.

"That's Dorthe. She's Alvor's." I had been wondering the girl's place here. The statement left a wistful look on Delphine's features. "She was my sister's. Died in the massacre. I've been taking care of her while Alvor works the forge… an apprenticeship if I ever saw one." She laughed bitterly then.

The girl reentered the room. Heated water sloshed merrily from the bucket that held it as she breezed through the room in her peculiar way. She'd tucked the tunic Delphine had ordered under her arm, the hem dusting across the floor as she moved toward the tub.

Delphine pulled the tunic from her grip as she passed, and the water only just made it passed the rim of the tub. A fresh torrent of steam unfurled from the bath, and the girl turned back to us, a proud smile daubed over her face.

It was a face heavy of jaw and brow. Her dirty, shoulder-length hair was pulled into a tight braid, though the loops and ridges of out- of- place locks circled her scalp in a parody of a crown. Her plain dress was muddy at the hem and her shoes were worn thin at the tips from her strange habit of balancing on her toes as she navigated the world with poise at odds with her weighty features. When she smiled, I saw a wild youthfulness shining in her eyes that held a strange familiarity. I realized that I saw myself in those eyes- the ashen gray eyes that seemed to be a family trait- and couldn't help but give a smile that keenly reflected hers, even as I felt pangs of maudlin recollection from my own childhood sticking to my ribcage. I embraced myself as I watched Delphine kneel down. She placed her hands on the sides of the girl's face as she spoke with crisply formed sentences- too clear to be ignored.

"Dorthe, I'm only going to say this one time." A vigorous nod from the girl. "I am going to let you stay up for the party." The girl gripped Delphine's hands, and jumped up excitedly. "I will allow this, but when and if your father or I tell you to go to bed, you must at once. Do you understand me?"

I hadn't yet heard the girl speak, and her light chirp held no surprise- excepting its briefness.

"Yes!"

"Now go find your father, and tell him its time."

With this, the girl turned and was through the door in such a hurry that she left it hanging wide on the hinges, and the bucket abandoned near the dresser. Delphine slowly closed it behind her, and I saw the humor play across her features. She turned back to me.

"For you." She gestured to the tub. The all but forgotten bath swam tantalizingly in front of me. I looked hesitantly at Delphine. She read my concern, and courteously turned as I began to undress. I'd always had an innate sense of modesty, though it was unusually relaxed around this woman. Even for her reasonably young age, she exuded a maternal air that I took solace in, despite the ardent dislike that had settled stubbornly in my chest. I sat on the edge of the bed to remove my boots and greaves. As I unlaced them, a strange, deep call reverberated around my room; something like a battle horn. I remembered Alvor's celebration instantly, as did Delphine. She moved over to pull the ties that held my armor on, and she took it from me as it slid off of my shoulders, leaving me in nothing but a tattered, filthy night slip that had served as makeshift underclothes for longer than I'd have liked to remember. She laid it hastily over the side if the bed, and headed for the door, calling promises to check on me over her shoulder as she retreated.

Gooseflesh erupted over my body as I stepped into the bath. I sank into its bone-melting comfort, and held my breath as I slid below the surface, gently washing the blood and dirt from my face. My hands continued down my body, and the water turned grey and murky as I continued rubbing dirt from every crevice I could easily reach with the gritty soap that had been balanced on the rim of the tub. Delphine had reappeared, but only briefly. She offered to wash my hair, and hummed dreamily at her task after I'd conceded, either of us unspeaking. As her fingers softly brushed the dirt from my scalp, I let the puerile, unfounded hardness for her that sullied my chest slip away with all of its trifling defense- or lack thereof.

I closed my eyes as Delphine worked. I had begun once more to give into the wily seductress that is sleep, and before I knew it, she had gone. Most likely she had meandered back to the festivity once she'd finished, leaving me alone to my pondering. My peace didn't last long, however. The sounds of the townspeople milling around the bar soon filled my ears, and kept me from jumping- or falling, rather, off of the precipice of slumber.

I sat in the blissfully warm water, humming to myself and thinking of nothing in particular. I sat until the water began to cool, and my fingers had begun to prune. I stepped out of the bath, instinctively angling my body toward the towel that lay across the vanity for the most express journey to warmth. A humid coolness stuck to the dampness that dripped slowly from my body, and I shivered as I made the short trek across the room.

I stood starkly nude before the mirrored vanity. The gaunt figure it outlined drew my eyes, and I couldn't look away. What the polished glass of the mirror reflected was foreign. I stood before myself thin and withered. Footsteps twisted the light that seeped lazily in below the door, cutting the torch smoke behind me to create a truly eerie image.

With the dried blood gone from my face, I could clearly see each of the small scrapes and bruises that littered my visage in a shocking approximation of how I'd once looked. The one from the specter in particularly stood out, warm and red; I could tell it would scar. I saw the veins running beneath my translucent skin. It appeared yellow, in its pellucidity absorbing the dancing light from the torches. Their flame seemed to flicker spitefully in a morbid display of my gauntness. The angle of the light invited jagged black darts to settle under my eyes, and the fingers that fluttered over my heart looked like those of a woman whose youth had fled with the century passed.

I tried to find the signs of health that had once been present in my features. The high cheekbones I'd inherited from my noble mother had once spanned virtuously across my face; now they jutted out of my in a thankless reminder of how little nobility meant in the end. My ribcage is barely visible through the thin sheath of sallow skin that conceals it, and my hipbones are as starkly protruding as my absurdly knobby knees. The only features that recall any estimate of health are the red streaks through the dark hair that I'd once held in such vain regard; and my blue eyes, which remain strangely untouched by the gauntness of my mien.

I closed my eyes, and reeled away from the vanity. As I put my full- however paltry- weight on my legs, I felt unstable, and I collapsed onto the bed. I curled into a ball, shaking.

My eyes remained closed, and even when I opened them, I couldn't rid myself of the burning vision of desolation that I had become. I realized now, looking at myself, that I had nothing. My status, my family, even the basis of my vanity had fled or been taken, and I was left with no way to defend myself. I felt as though I were being squeezed by the caprice of the world, laughed at by the cosmos. The pressure centered in my chest. Before I could register their presence, tears had welled up in my eyes.

I tried to focus my sudden frenzy. I heard the lively crowd outside the door. A drumbeat found its way to my ears, and I forged a pattern between it and my uneven heartbeat. I heard a plucked lute; it seemed that the bard had found his voice. I tried to find Hadvar's high voice through the bland buzzing, and couldn't. I strained, clinging to any sound that could have been him, trying to keep my head above the unnamed feeling that I was hovering so dangerously close to, desperately trying avoid. I reached out to the edge of the dresser, and knocked of my greaves hit the floor, sharp and concise in the mock silence of the chamber. The noise cracked through the last of my self-control. My chest heaved with frantic breath. I clawed desperately at the headboard as my tears stained the bed sheets.

I felt the humid air swirl around the room as the door was opened, and quickly closed.

"Tanella, dear? I-"

Delphine's voice caught in her throat, and whether she was startled by my nudity or my gasping sobs, I wouldn't have been able to say. She strode across the room to retrieve a towel from the vanity, and wrapped it around my bare shoulders. After a few consoling whispers, she embraced me, pulling me into a sitting position. I tried to resist, ashamed of my show of vulnerability. My weak arms pushed against her, but she held fast. I gave in, and leaned into the crook of her neck as she rocked me.

We stayed in this attitude for what felt like hours, but could only have been a few minutes. She stroked my hair as I sniffled like a child at her breast. The minutes passed between us nearly silent. When she spoke, the words seemed to issue forth from above me.

"After the massacre… it took a while to hit me. I didn't feel anything for the longest time. I thought there was something wrong with me… that I was awful, or wrong. I couldn't even make myself care about _that_. I wanted to feel something, anything…" She sighed shakily. "But it came. And there was this relief… it hurt, more than anything. But there _was_ a relief. It felt like standing and stretching after sitting for too long in one attitude… like I could finally breathe. I don't know what happened to you, and I don't need to, but I know that this has been a long time coming. Whatever it is, I understand."

A far off memory suddenly presented itself, and the story found its way easily to my lips.

"I once took a tumble off of a horse, and my shoulder popped out of place. My father pushed it back to normal, and I thought it was the worst pain I'd ever feel. But this…"

"Just so. And it's far from over. But there's something strong in you. If you can battle dragons, and stand Alvor, than you'll survive this. I did."

I laughed. Her mention of the dragon was made in a flippant tone, and paired with the quip about Alvor; I could tell that she hadn't taken our story any more seriously than Alvor's gruffness. I wasn't yet sure if I could believe what had happened in Helgen, and I let the notions drift off.

"There wasn't exactly any battling, but… thank you." I meant it more than anything I'd said yet in Riverwood. She nodded, and smiled.

I gave one last, shuddering sigh, and rubbed at my eyes before sitting completely up. This woman, with her flawed speech, had known exactly what to say. She brushed a stray tear from my cheek.

"I have to go back…"

"Of course."

"You don't have to come out if you're not up to it, but you're absolutely welcome."

"I'd love to. I'll get dressed-"

"You're not doing me any favors," She gripped my shoulder.

"Really, I'm fine." I felt stronger than I had before. Braver. I pushed myself confidently toward the vanity. I lifted the tunic and pulled the fabric over my shoulders. I dragged the hairbrush that had been laid out through my hair roughly, and Delphine handed me a leather strip to tie it back. I looked upon myself once more in the mirror of the vanity. It was a different person than a few moments before that looked unwaveringly back at me. I stood dressed in an unassuming blue. The tunic would have fit me wonderfully, if I'd been healthier. Delphine stepped behind me to fasten the clasps that trailed my spine, and she spoke as her fingers ascended my back.

"I have to warn you, Dorthe has become a bit… enamored with you. There's not many girls near her age here, so be prepared." I laughed and sniffled.

"It's welcome, if she's friendlier than her father."

Delphine chuckled quietly as she reached the last clasp, and grasped my shoulders to turn and appraise me.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're beautiful?"

I laughed sardonically. It was something that I'd heard oft as a child, and it brought back the familiar sense of incredulity. I squirmed as she looked at me. It seemed a ridiculous falsehood, especially in my less than fit state. I'd always been conscious of my thin figure, my freckled arms and legs, and the wide, pale, staring eyes that gave me the air of being eternally startled. I'd learned through trial and error that the best recourse is to be thankful and move on, a tactic which I employed now.

"Not for a long time. Thank you."

She must have sensed my weary tone. "You don't believe me?"

"Hardly."

Her eyebrows went together, but she didn't pursue it. Dorthe entered suddenly, knocking only after insinuating herself.

"Delphine? Daddy says that he needs you out there, and he needs you out there now because he can't hold down this damned crowd for much longer and he can't tell which bloody barrels are mead and which are pickled bloody herring and-"

The girl had hardly taken a breath during her verbatim recitation of her father's orders, and would have continued if Delphine hadn't cut her off.

"Dorthe! Language, _please_. Tell your father we'll be there in a moment," She threw a sly look my way as she whispered, "and to keep his _bloody_ britches on." Dorthe and I laughed in tandem, and her eyes found their way to me.

She gasped exaggeratedly. "You look _pretty_." There was sincerity to the astonishment in her statement, and I smiled through my chagrin, recalling how I must have looked upon her first impression of me.

"_Thank_ you." I laughed again at her. Laughter was becoming easier, the more time I spent around Hadvar's family. I laughed harder, and Dorthe giggled with me. Delphine even joined in our sudden, frantic mirth, but showed that she still held the reins firmly as she quelled our laughter.

"Go to your father, we're nearly ready."

Dorthe pouted, though she turned and pranced back through the door.

"Are you sure about this? It sounds like whole town is here."

"I'm absolutely sure."

"Well then," She smiled.

She seemed to size up the door, as if gauging the threat of a foe. She pushed firmly on the wood with both hands.

The door opened to reveal that the celebration was in full swing. The chandeliers that had escaped my notice before now hung low, lighting the scene below grandly.

There were more bodies filling the limited space than I'd thought could occupy even this small town. There were young men getting a head start on the evening's drinking; they sung rowdily and stood crowding the games tables, and it was among them that I spotted Hadvar, who sat stood upon a chair, diverting his companions with a drink in hand. A group of elder women sat around the roasting pit; and children stuck to the edges of the hall, though every so often one would work up the courage to delve into the sea that was the bulk of the celebration. Many patrons stood around the balcony observing the grandeur of the party below, but most had collected in the great crowd on the main floor.

The mass seemed to grow increasingly more rowdy as I looked on. Dorthe had appeared somewhere near my elbow, and regaled me with questions and stories as if I'd known her for her entire life. I could only lend her my partial attention; I was almost fully consumed by my possibly pointless attempt at locating Hadvar in the commotion. Delphine gripped my arm and we waded through the crowd filling the balcony. Dorthe latched onto my skirt and we trailed through together.

We found our way down the steps, and to the bar. Delphine pounded the counter several times before we gained a harried Alvor's attention.

"Your timing is awful. I could've used you an hour ago!" He slapped an overflowing tankard down in front of an impatient Nord, who yelled an obscenity at the ale that splashed over him before fading into the crowd. "I'm to speak, you'll hold down the bar after, yeah?"

"Of course!" Delphine shouted back. Alvor ducked beneath the bar, and threw an apron at Delphine, who caught it without missing a beat. Alvor pushed his way past us until he too disappeared into the crowd.

The body heat from the packed room drafted upward in waves; each body pushed and pulsed against another, creating the sweaty friction that so differed from the cruel wind just outside. Delphine, Dorthe and I had found a place removed from the sudden influx of bodies; we now rested against a far wall. It was slightly elevated from the rest of the floor, and it provided a nearly complete view of the scene.

The horde was still simmering. Dorthe chattered, tugging at my skirt. Delphine put a hand on either of her shoulders, laughing as the entrance to the Inn became clogged, and pocket of newcomers tumbled over one another. I watched Alvor, who was at least a head higher than most of the men, cutting roughly through the crowd. They parted in front of him, flowing back into the spaces they'd created as he passed. He grabbed Hadvar from the games table, and made his way back to the bar.

Alvor mounted the bar in the midst of the sea of bodies to stand above the tumult. He reached behind the counter to grasp an empty tankard. He turned and bashed the tap off of a barrel of wine, the ruby liquid spilling forth. From this glistening stream he filled his flagon. There was a rush to the front, and as Alvor turned again to face the majority of the crowd, more bodies filed in around him to drink directly from the viscous fount he'd opened.

Alvor began to stamp his foot in an archaic rhythm until he commanded every line of attention under the sloping roof of the Inn. Even Dorthe had ceased her prattling. Her eyes shined up at Alvor as he scanned over the crowd. A hush settled over the Inn as he began to speak.

"Tonight was to be a night of sobriety. We left our work when darkness fell, taking the time in its stead to remember in silence the honored dead." Alvor grazed the room with steely eyes, so similar to Hadvar's. Slowly he elevated his right arm, gripping the mug of mead in a tempestuous salute. "I raise my flagon now, breaking the silence we've created. I raise my flagon, not in disgrace of those lost on that bloody day, but in warm remembrance of the fathers, brothers, wives and daughters lost to the plague –yes, the _plague_- of this forsaken war. I raise my flagon to the ones we've been missing and surviving without for a year now. I raise my flagon to the blood on the stones, the river that ran red, and the village we built up around it all. I raise my flagon to the dead returned to us on this night, by the will of Talos!"

Alvor gripped Hadvar's tunic, pulling him onto the bar. Hadvar clumsily consented and stood above the crowd next to his uncle. He scanned the crowd, squinting, until he caught my eye. He smiled, and raised his fist triumphantly into the dense air of the Inn. The crowd met his gesture with their guttural cry. "It's been a year. It's been one long, cold, cruel _bitch_ of a year since that day." Another wail from the crowd. "We all lost something, someone, even _everything_ that day. But we've grown stronger for it. We've rebuilt, and we're still here!" I felt the roar of the crowd through the column I'd been resting against. There was a glint in Alvor's eye as he continued. "And so instead of sitting in our darkened homes, letting the cold freeze us into an eternal winter, I drink! Drink now, and drink deeply! Losing their memory to the winter would be letting the bastards who took them win, and a shame to last us an era. Drink now to the past, and drink to our prosperity!" Alvor punched into the air with the hand he'd clenched around the flagon, and wine sloshed over the crowd at his feet. They cheered, again, even more loudly than before, and reached out to him. From my view, the horde engulfed him to the waist and Hadvar to his chest. Alvor wrapped his arm around Hadvar's newly clothed shoulders, and dove into the end of his short, but powerful speech as the crowd clamored around him. "Praise be to Talos, for lifting our sorrows, and returning old friends to us this night. Praise Talos! Praise Talos!"

The phrase became a chant. Alvor threw his arms wide, and seemed to sink into the crowd. Hundreds of pairs of arms reached out to him, engulfing him in a swarming embrace.

The attentiveness of the crowd soon broke; factions between families were formed, and each faded to his own device. I was left companionless. Dorthe scampered off to join the children that looped in and out of the legs of adults, tipping over tankards of mead for stolen sips; and snatching crusts of bread that were, more often than not, reduced to crumbs from bickering before they could be consumed. Delphine was had made her way to the bar; she was holding it down with a finely honed finesse that I thought I ought not to disturb. Alvor had been absorbed into the crowd, and was nowhere to be seen- though I doubted his company would have subdued my unease.

I wandered up the stairs once more. I leaned over the railing of the balcony, contenting myself with watching the party, for a little while. The old women gossiped, the men drank, and the mothers ran interception for their children. All the while, I sucked in the warm, humid air that had already been respired by so many others. I needed the clear, fresh air that waited just outside. I headed for the stairs.

Suddenly, a crash resounded through the hall. There was a great shuffling as everyone in the bar maneuvered to get a better look at the cause of the noise.

Near the center of the room, a bench from one of the tables lay over the roasting pit. Hadvar stood, chest heaving, over the drunken man I'd seen in the corner of the bar earlier. He laid sprawled and unconscious on the surface of the table missing the bench. A ring began to form around them, and a chant broke out across those watching. Alvor pushed through to his nephew, and placed himself between Hadvar and the man, and seemed to be talking Hadvar down. Hadvar screamed obscenities at the man from over his uncle's shoulder, very obviously drunk. He seemed as though he were going to continue throttling his unconscious form. Alvor had to hold him back, a feat that would have broken a lesser man. Hadvar's anger gradually subsided, and Alvor led him, stumbling, out of the main hall. Delphine followed quickly behind.

A wave of nervous laughter broke out. The bench was replaced, and the man carted off by his own people. The celebration gradually grew back into its previous, boisterous state. I was shaken to, say the least. I thought about going after them, until my line of thought was cut off by something unexpected.

Before Hadvar's scene had impeded my progress toward the door, I'd stopped in front of the games tables. It was from that direction that I heard a familiar voice, though I couldn't place it.

"She-Nord!" it snorted. "Come and witness the downfall of Ulark!"

I whipped around, and there, under the dim torchlight, sat the Wood Elf, Faendal. A group of Nords had gathered around one of the games tables. Most drank, and some smoked; all were tense. A grey cloud hovered over the table, one that was ridden with gold pouches, and jewels. Faendal's bow and quiver was perched upon the edge of the table as well, for collateral, as I could only assume.

Only two men were seated. One of them was a hulking Orc, from whom an explosion of notorious temper seemed to be growing more and more incumbent; the other a smirking Faendal, whose deft hands found their way to a tankard of mead as often as they did the cards before him.

"Closer, I say, you'll not see it from over there." The men turned to glimpse me uninterestedly, and then back to the game. I stepped cautiously forward to join the throng.

The Orc growled. "Tricks and distractions. Play it fast and play it true, elf, or I'll have your head." At this, the Orc drew a dagger from his belt, and stuck it menacingly into the wood of the table. Faendal eyed him, amused, from over his tankard. He drank deeply, finishing the mead it contained. He was obviously inebriated, but where another's faculties would have been dimmed, Faendal seemed to move- and think- as quickly as before.

Faendal smacked his lips before he reached over the table, and pulled the dagger free, tossing it onto the pile of collateral. Some men laughed, though the Orc himself clenched his fists. Faendal spoke to me once more, ignoring the Orc's threat.

"It would seem that your friend has throttled the town drunk. And here I thought he was useless." He threw a fistful of gold coins onto the pile of valuables. I didn't respond to his quip. "Have you lost your voice, little bird? Ahh, no matter. I've just made a small fortune!"

I blanched at his strange teasing. He tapped his cards twice on the table, before splaying them out before him.

His brows danced mockingly above his eyes before he stuck his bow and quiver to the sash across his back. He made to grasp the Orc's dagger; before he could lay a finger on it, however, the Orc gave a mighty roar, and flipped the table with a single hand.

"You're a cheat, elf! I'd a full hand, and so did you. False cards. Your head is mine!"

The elf scoffed. "I hardly think so. It was _you_ who ended the game with false cards, not I. Granted, I did place them there-"

The Orc drew his long blade, and the elf's voice caught, and his smirk slid slowly from his face. The blade glinted dauntingly in the torchlight, and before I knew what I was doing, I'd placed myself between Faendal and the Orc's weapon.

"Perhaps you'd have his gold, and save his head for another day?" I gestured to the gold that had been so flippantly strew about the ground. The Orc's eyes seemed to glow red with anger, but he sheathed his weapon all the same. He sneered as he spoke.

"All talk and no substance. I'll remember this elf, and your pretty little friend to boot."

The Orc kneeled to collect the spoils of his discord. Faendal whined drunkenly behind me, but the look I threw him ceased the noise immediately.

The men gradually dissipated, and the Orc left the Inn entirely after he'd gathered what remained of the collateral. I stayed, feeling as though I needed to see it through to the end.

Faendal sat heavily in the only chair left standing after the Orc's outburst. "And I thought you were a mute." He breathed a shaky sigh. He'd been more shaken than his haughty demeanor let on.

I smiled wryly. "Not a mute, only sensible." He laughed and took a swig from the mug of ale he'd swiped from a passing serving wench.

"Sensible indeed. Almost makes me glad I didn't kill you."

"I'd forgotten about that. I was thinking about that, you know."

"You were? Pray share the inevitably incorrect conclusion that you came to."

"You didn't mean to kill us. You missed purposely."

"Preposterous!" He spat the word, though humor played across his lips as he spoke it.

"You're Bosmer. The most skilled archers in all of Tamriel. The wind was minimal, and the light was decent. You absolutely couldn't have missed… unless you were trying."

"A bit presumptuous, hmm? You're an archer yourself." He largely ignored my theory.

"And how would you know that?"

"The shoulders. It's in the shoulders." He threw his own back, ale sloshing from his nearly empty tankard.

"Aye."

"Aye. And what of a name, little bird?"

I winced once more at the name. "Why do you call me that?"

"You know, I thought it was clever. You're thin, and birds sing… I hadn't yet heard you speak. I now realize that it was quite foolish, in fact, but… it suits you."

"Now you've started me blushing."

"My only aim in life."

"It's Tanella. My name. I'm Tanella."

"So I surmised." He spoke acerbically, but smiled at me all the same.

He stood from his chair to rest his elbows on the railing of the balcony I was leaning against, observing the dwindling crowd below. He passed me his flagon. A few dredges of mead circled the bottom, and I traced the metal rim with my finger.

"It seems the Nords have exhausted their enthusiasm."

I turned to see what Faendal saw. Indeed, the majority of the patrons had left for home, either due to the late hour, or the lack of a bartender. The games tables, and most of the balcony had emptied, and only a few, mostly drunk patrons sat along the wooden benches of the long tables.

My eyes scanned across the room. They stopped- along with my heartbeat- as I saw something I never thought I'd see again.

The specter was there, watching me, watching it.

* * *

><p>1.) Romeo And Juliet, Pieces (10) For Piano, Op. 75: VI. Montague and Capulet- Sergey Prokofiev<p>

2.) Fever Ray- The Wolf

4.) Lotus Flower- Radiohead


	6. Marked for Insanity

A/N: I'm putting them at the bottom now :)

Disclaimer: I own absolutely no part of the Elder Scrolls series, and make no money off of this fic.

….

_Previously, in _"The Dragonborn Rising"_:_

_He stood from his chair to rest his elbows on the railing of the balcony I was leaning against, observing the dwindling crowd below. He passed me his flagon. A few dredges of mead circled the bottom, and I traced the metal rim with my finger._

_"It seems the Nords have exhausted their enthusiasm."_

_I turned to see what Faendal saw. Indeed, the majority of the patrons had left for home, either due to the late hour, or the lack of a bartender. The games tables and most of the balcony had emptied, and only a few, mostly drunk patrons sat along the wooden benches of the long tables._

_My eyes scanned across the room. They stopped- along with my heartbeat- as I saw something I never thought I'd see again._

_The specter was there, watching me, watching it._

…...

The flagon in my lax grip slipped through my fingers, tumbling two stories to the ground. It clattered brazenly upon impact, but nothing could have drawn my eyes from what I saw in the far corner of the hall.

The specter observed my shock with unblinking stoicism. Even the distance that separated us didn't dull the vacuous glint of the creature's eye, and the wicked curve of its flashing claws. Its cool stare seemed to hold mine in a vice.

My legs had gone numb. I couldn't move away from the specter's gaze. It seemed as though the fear that had been coursing through my veins was being drawn through my eyes- and into the specter's.

The alarm rising in my chest was reaching a fever pitch when wave of absolute calm broke over me, spreading through my veins, replacing my panic with a sense of... _serenity_.

I felt myself leaning over the rail as I looked into its depthless stare. I could hear Faendal's increasingly anxious questions pulsating through the air behind me. I couldn't answer him. Words didn't matter any longer, and the warnings and pleadings of the elf ceased to have any true meaning. The only thing I vaguely registered was his distress, as every noise became muffled and a strange static rushed over my ears.

My entire purpose became utterly clear, though there were no words to truly describe it. A buzzing tether seemed to connect the specter and I, and it drew me toward the figure with unwavering confidence.

I leaned slowly farther over the railing of the balcony. I swung one leg over the rail, straddling the bannister. A borrowed slipper fell from my foot, spiraling to join the tankard below. I watched it bemusedly until my eyes snapped back to the specter's unblinking ones.

The elf had drawn attention with in his agitated efforts, and there was a chorus of dissension from those watching below. I ignored them. Couldn't they see? No, they'd never see. They'd never understand.

A strange tenor rose from those spectating, and an etheric boldness washed over me, deadening my wavering focus. The words of the crowd were no more; instead, the atmosphere trembled with a tuneful sensitivity- unlike any Earthly acuity I'd ever known. It skirted the senses I'd come to know, clinging fastidiously to the spectrum of perception that had always sustained me. In the space around me I could sense desperation, destitution, agony; the sweet depravity that Alvor's speech had inspired still lingering in the humid air, and most commonly now, alarm.

Each emotion consisted of a vibration. Their apprehension rang shrilly in my ear, while their inward despondency registered as a low, blue moan. I could tell where each figure stood, even with my lessened vision; each emoted at a different frequency, and so each stood out as a glowing, shapeless figure below. I could feel a childish disappointment somewhere to my left; anger seemed to burn through the wall that shielded it to my right; and worry was present entirely over the bar. Those who watched me merged together into one trepid, glowing mass that danced around the edges of my vision. Some even stood out as amused. Their facile humor resonated even more penetratingly than those that exuded concern.

Every spoken word only cut through the echoing hum of their emotions, distracting their limited attention until it could be consumed once more by their buzzing sentiment.

As I swung my other leg over the railing, my skirts bunched revealingly over my hips, and I felt the seams pop from my exertion. I registered the short burst of libidinous shock that undulated through the room. I tottered on the thin band of wood that jutted beyond the bannister, balancing on only the balls of my feet and gripping the rail behind me. A wave of astonishment at my perceived recklessness rippled through the ringing of the crowd's alarm, and even those who had laughed were staggered.

It was only the smallest possible portion of my concentration that devoted itself to observing their reactions; an even slighter section of my intellect kept me perched upon the ledge. I stood facing the room, and the specter was pleased- there was nary a change in the countenance of the creature, but a visceral satisfaction that warmed the tether between us. As I hung above the hall, a burgeoning motive took shape in my mind; its tendrils began to worm their way into my psyche. The elf behind me, though, kept the thought from fully forming as he chirruped on inanely. The alarm that I'd inspired below was simple enough to ignore, though the intensity emanating from him created waves in the strength of the fetter, strong enough that even his rapid speaking had little effect. The concussive pattern of his frantic concern made it nearly impossible for me to focus on the specter. The weakness in the line connecting the specter and I was almost painful- I felt as though the sensitivity of my new perception would overwhelm me completely if the bond were somehow broken.

The elf was an increasing hindrance. It was disorienting. It was something I almost couldn't describe- as if my consciousness were something to be divided and channeled; as if it were strung like a marionette, to be pulled and tugged and directed. I had to stop him. His interference was scattering my thoughts- the thoughts that had become so forcefully devoted to this unnamed goal.

Somewhere in the glowing fetter that spanned between the specter and I, I had lost myself, though through this strange new perception I still sensed the elf behind me. My entire body felt to me as one's legs do when they've fallen to sleep; I could still sense it in some capacity, though trying to control any part of it now felt impossibly foreign. I experimentally angled my neck toward the elf. The connection sparked in resistance, and the room around me spun sickeningly; still I forced it. I could sense a primitive, wild ire pulsing through the fetter. An intense heat was rolling off of the connection, and it only grew as I continued to defy its veracity.

I closed my eyes, gripping the bannister behind me tightly. My fingers were slick with sweat, and one of my feet slipped as the connection between the specter and I grew hotter. I could hear my own voice somewhere through the burning tether, and it grew as even gripping the railing became nearly impossible from the pain of the specter's displeasure. My fingers were slipping, I was slipping-

And suddenly, somehow, the connection was broken.

My heart pounded deafeningly, loudly enough for the veins in my eyes to pulse along the strange blackness that had engulfed my vision. Rippling circles and radiating stars faded from my eyes as if I'd been pressing them, and the worried words of the crowd seemed impossibly loud as my ears acclimated once more to a blessedly human range of sound.

Faendal had wrapped his arms completely around my waist, his chin over my shoulder as he attempted to heft me back over the railing. The room below scintillated sickeningly, and I observed it with increasing frenzy. I let go of the bannister to claw at Faendal's arms where they were clamped about my midriff. He held fast, and I senselessly thrashed, terror numbing my wits. As I lashed around in Faendal's arms, my feet slipped off of the thin stretch of wood that had been supporting me. He continued to speak rapidly as I dangled, unsupported, over the ground. His speech took on a familiar pattern as his agitated whispers brushed the tips of my hair across my chest.

"Tanella. Stay _still_, Tanella. _Just breathe_._"_

I did as I was told. I took a steadying breath through my nose, held it, and let it go.

I repeated this a few more times, ignoring those who watched below. Faendal had ceased his cajoling, and breathed in time with me. My head felt impossibly light, and it was all I could do to focus on my breathing. In. Hold. And out.

Finally, finally, I felt composed enough to plant my feet back on the thin band of wood that they'd slipped from. I slid my bottom onto the bannister, and Faendal lifted me up and over.

I was unsteady on my feet. My knees buckled as the room swam around me. The momentum from being pulled over the ledge combined with my full weight staggered him, and he stumbled backward until we hit the wall. He slid slowly down, still clutching me in his arms.

We sat like that for a moment; shocked, just breathing. When he spoke, I felt his voice before I heard it.

"Have you gone _mad_?" His voice was barely more than a whisper. He seemed sobered.

I couldn't speak yet. Instead, I moved shakily onto my knees, and crawled over to the ledge.

Faendal reached out instinctively to stop me, though he stilled when I did. I peered into the corner through the slats of the railing. It was gone. It was gone, and I wasn't even sure if it had ever truly been there. Those who had spectated had dissipated once again, likely driven away by disappointment- I hadn't jumped, after all, and a rescued drunk is far less interesting than an injured one.

I laughed at my own morbid humor. Faendal watched me incredulously.

I glanced at him sideways. "Insanity can be the only justification for what I have seen. What I've _done_." I said. "What must you think of me?" I snorted once more, and somewhere through my laughter, I began to cry.

Faendal cleared his throat, and stood. I sat in a pathetic heap across from him, prepared for him to depart in disbelief; and so I could only meet his next actions with utter surprise.

He pulled me gently off of the ground, slinging my arm around his shoulder instead of carrying me; which I managed to appreciate through my sniffling.

"Which room is yours?" He asked gently. I pointed to the plain door at the end of the hall, and he pushed it open with his hip as we reached it. He led me to the bed, into which I fell face-first.

I rolled over as he peeled back the bed sheets, draping them over me. I hiccupped in wonder at his gentility. Why was he doing this for me? What did he want?

I looked around the room sullenly. I had nothing to offer him. Not even my body. I laughed to myself with a mix of revulsion and self- pity, earning another skeptical glance from Faendal.

"Why are you doing this for me? Do you want something?"

He snorted. "A "thank you" would have been appreciated, but I can only expect so much from someone in such an unsound frame of mind." He grinned wickedly.

"Thank you." I said weakly, suddenly tired. I couldn't work up the energy to respond to his jibe. He gave me a strange smile.

"I suppose I really only paid off a debt. You have a way with words, little bird. It was the least I could do."

"So we're even?" I hiccupped again.

"Even. Get some sleep. You'll have some explaining to do tomorrow. You'll be the talk of the town. I'd get my story straight."

He winked, extinguished the torch above my bed, and turned to leave.

He hadn't asked questions, nor had he asked me for anything in return. What was his aim? He'd helped me, risked his standing in the town, and he didn't want anything? Anger flared up in my chest, and I stopped him before he closed the door.

"Faendal?"

He stopped to look at me. His wide, yellow eyes flashed in the torchlight of the hall. I lost my nerve.

"Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Tanella."

He shut the door, and I was plunged into darkness.

The blackness on the room weighed heavily on my chest. It was still humid from the bath, and the air seemed to expand in my lungs, nearly suffocating me.

The last of the patrons soon left the bar; and the Inn was nearly quiet. The wind howled ominously through the cracks in the walls. Each noise drew from me a jump or a squeak, and I soon gave up any pretense of sleeping.

I lost track of how long I'd been lying there, or if I ever even found sleep. The utter darkness of the room and the heaviness of the air combined into something very close to slumber. I lay flat on my back, inhaling and exhaling. My thoughts became dreamy, and my eyes soon fluttered closed.

There was a scuffling. I froze, and my eyes snapped open. I lay entirely still, listening.

More scuffling, from the area where the tub would be- if I were anything but blinded.

I pushed off of the bed, reaching slowly toward my night stand, or where it should have been, grasping for the stand that had supported the torch.

I slowly twisted the wooden base of the torch free from its blunt metal stand. I fingered it wearily, and began to speak out-

The transition from dark to light was sudden. I threw myself against the bedrails blindly, pushing myself away from the figure at the end of the bed.

My legs ceased to function. My fingers contracted around the torch-holder, though my arms were useless to me now. I was helplessly immobilized, and could only watch in horror as the specter swooped over me.

A scintillating ball of light hung behind the specter's head, illuminating the face that hovered only inches from mine. Saw it in stark definition, as if for the first time- the feline-esque markings that lined its face were made up of shimmering scales that overlapped to create smooth ridges across its cheeks and forehead. The skin beneath them was smooth, and had an almost powdery texture. Its lips were thin and colorless. The eyes though, were the one feature that struck a note of fear that resonated so deeply within me that I could hardly think.

The lidless eyes of this terrible creature consisted of not one, but thousands of lenses, like an insect's. They darted around, shimmering, and blood pooled in the corners. Its spell had petrified everything; my lips, my tongue, even my vocal chords. I could not scream. My eyes were frozen in place; I couldn't close them; I couldn't look away.

It was in these eyes that I saw myself reflected. The specter's claw appeared in my peripheral; it extended one gnarled finger, and traced the scratch it had left me with in the cave; though this time, it didn't break the skin.

I watched the Specter's eyes. I still saw my reflection; but something odd was happening. There was movement where there couldn't possibly have been any. Tiny figures danced in the specter's eyes. Recognition refined the images.

I watched myself dragging Hadvar out of the cave; trekking across the tundra that lay between Helgen and Riverwood; I saw Faendal string his bow and aim for a tree above our Hadvar and I entered Riverwood, and I saw Alvor's embrace with his nephew being played back before my eyes. I watched myself bathe, and I watched as Alvor bewitched a room full of wily Nords. The Orc flipped the table once again, I swung my leg over the balcony as I was watched from below; and I watched as Faendal gently lugged me back to my quarters.

The visions morphed back to my face, my true face, reflected once again in the specter's eyes. I'd held an awful suspicion. I'd been pressing the thought back, but it reared up sickeningly now. The specter's scratch was more than a disfiguration; it was a means of tracking. It would always be able to find me; I'd never be truly safe again.

Maybe the specter felt the change in my emotion as I realized the horrible truth. The corners of its twisted lips turned upward.

It slid flowingly backward, and stared at with something very near satisfaction on its terribly defined features.

The specter lifted a hand lackadaisically, conjuring a strange yellow light. It drifted to the side of my bed, out of my line of sight; I was still unable to move my eyes. The glow from the light grew larger in my periphery. The specter placed the entirety of the spell wielding palm over my eyes, and my world became totally, utterly black.

…...

A/N: Hello all :) This chapter was a little hard to write, because I didn't know how in- detail I should get when describing the scenes with the specter. He (it?) is such an interesting (albeit absolutely strange) character to write, and I was having a bit of a rough time envisioning it- let alone describing it to you guys. I hope I did decently with the descriptions and everything.

Sorry again for the long, long time between updates. I've started a new project, which absorbed a lot of my time, and I unfortunately got a little neglectful. I'm going to write a few chapters ahead for the new story, so that won't be up for a while, but I'm really excited about it. It might not be an Elder Scrolls fan's cup of tea, but I'm giddy with excitement, nonetheless. Look out for it, and if it's something you're interested in, you know I'd love it if you R&R'd. I didn't want to end where I did, but I wanted to get something up before it had officially been a month. The next chapter of TDR will be super long and informative. I promise :)

I found this picture of a mod on , and it was almost exactly what I'd been picturing the specter as looking like, but it was in a split screen with 3 other characters, and it's only a side view, but it's something. The specter is my current profile picture.

I have most of the story plotted out after this chapter. "The Dragonborn Rising" has been blown way out of proportion, but I have to say, I'm quite glad about it. I love writing it, and I hope you guys love reading it. I originally meant it to only be a few chapters, maybe leading up to Tanella being summoned by the Greybeards, and then leaving the rest up to the reader's interpretations. In plotting out the story, though, I've fallen in love with some of the characters and their stories, and I just can't bring myself to leave them off like that. The story may change a bit from what I have planned, but the plot twists and stuff are pretty strategically planned, and how they work it out is based on a few tiny details. I actually am planning to separate it into "Acts". These "Acts" would be along the lines of separate books in a series (Again, blown *way* out of proportion.) I'm actually really excited to write the future chapters, and it made this chapter a little tough to get through.

I won't give too much away, but I'm thinking that the rating might go from "T" to "M"… bad idea? Would I lose readership that way? Leave a review with thoughts or questions about my story plans.

Finally, I'd like to thank a few of my reviewers (actually, all of them): x Kyuubi z, CalliopeSpeaks88, and shaddowwing238 for being my most faithful reviewers (I wouldn't be writing this if it weren't for reviewers like you!); Vickmackey007 for industriously and dedicatedly reviewing my story, even at the risk of great phone related consternation, and for the great advice; DreamerOfTheFlowingDream for the thoughtful review (it made me smile :)); and to MysticChaos: Ralof will show up again, I promise ;)

Reviews: They're great 3

Sorry for the long author's note. It's a bad habit, and thanks for reading it if you've gotten this far ^.^

* * *

><p>Edit: I forgot the Playlist!<p>

Only two songs this chapter:

1.) Feral- Radiohead (The specter is feral, right?)

2.) She's Lost Control- Joy Division (All Joy Division is great for jumping off of a bridge to... I couldn't make up my mind on this one, but this is the final edit!)


	7. AN II (11712)

Hello again. If you all haven't developed severe trust issues by now, I'd like to let you know that I'll be revising the currently published chapters of "The Dragonborn Rising" and will begin posting new chapters as soon as I am able.

I've had a lot of personal upheaval in my life in the past few months. I'd like to thank you all for your continued support, and let you know how truly important this story is to me. I think I'm feeling a little more like Tanella every day. Let's hope it adds to the story.

Grattitude and love to you all,

-Neveramore


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